Before
by Fitzz
Summary: [ COMPLETE ] Harm and Mac investigate the case of a murdered Petty Officer in Italy, while sorting out their own feelings in the process.
1. Chapter I

BEFORE  
  
This fic quite shamelessly ignores the Season 9 finale. I suppose it's romance (H/M) with a more minor investigation being carried out. It's just really fun to write, and I hope you enjoy it.  
  
BTW, I thought the finale was great, but quite saddening. Can't wait until Season 10.  
  
My first fanfic! R&R  
  
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1815 ZULU  
Sarah Mackenzie's Apartment  
Georgetown  
  
His shirt feels foreign under my fingers. It's cool and smooth to the touch. I grab little bunches of it and pull him towards me as I feel his lips dance across the skin of my neck. The sun has just started to set, the scanty streams of light that manage to reach the window are met by my thin drapes. Their patterns reflect across the walls slowly, and eventually disappear as the sun goes lower on the horizon.  
  
Clay's fingers play with the buttons on my shirt as he pushes me to the wall of my bedroom. As expected, much like every other time I am not juggling files, or working on my next court martial, my cell phone's shrill cry can be heard from my nightstand, where I had placed it nonchalantly as I came home from the office just twenty minutes before. This is the first time in months that I've come home before 1900 – I was a sucker to think it would last.  
  
He lets me go as the phone rings for the third time. I lazily retreat and answer, loosing my foothold a little as I slip on a shirt that's been on my floor for God knows how long, "Mackenzie."  
  
"Colonel," it's unmistakably Chegwidden, undoubtedly contacting me to shackle me to my desk at headquarters.  
  
"Sir?" I say slowly, I don't want him to crush my hopes of staying home so quickly.  
  
I hear a pause on the other end, almost as if he is contemplating what to tell me, "I need you here at the office."  
  
His voice leaves no room for argument, but I still try to weasel myself out, "I'm a bit busy Sir…I…" I trail off trying to make an excuse, but the lawyer inside me screams 'no'. "Is there a problem?"  
  
"Colonel, you need to be at headquarters within the hour."  
  
In my peripheral vision, I can see Clay walking towards my dresser, admiring the little trinkets I've collected over the years, and a picture of Harm and I.  
  
I sigh, but quickly compose myself, remembering my CO is on the other line. I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear and glance at my clock, if the beltway isn't too bad, I can make it, "I'll be there, Sir."   
  
"Good Colonel. I'll see you then, just hurry." I hear a click. I've been disconnected.   
  
I shuffle the cell phone in my hands and glance up at Clay. He's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. I feel horrible. We haven't been able to get together in weeks, and the one time we're both free, it's been ruined.  
  
He smiles, already knowing what's coming. He knows about the constraints of work more than I do, and understands my predicament, "I'll see you later. Call me?"  
  
"Yeah. From the sounds of it, seems like the Admiral is pretty flustered. I think it's an emergency," the excuse sounds lame even to me.   
  
Clay buttons his shirt and walks out of my room. I follow him, despite the fact I know I should hurry to the office, and I watch as he grabs his jacket. He looks up after he leans to get it from my chair and smiles again, "Goodbye Sarah."   
  
I nod as he pulls the door open and exits. He stands by the doorframe, waiting for me to come over, and ever the gentleman, he kisses my chastely on the lips. I smile one last time and close the door as he turns his back to me to leave. An empty apartment once more.   
  
I curse myself for being so slow as I look at the clock again. I now have thirty minutes to get to the office. I run into my bedroom, and see my cover on the floor, which was unceremoniously discarded when Clay came in. I rush out, having just enough time to grab my cell phone and jacket.   
  
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1906 ZULU  
JAG Headquarters  
  
I nearly trip and crash into Sturgis who is just making his way out and apologize furtively to him as I clambered up the steps. I press the elevator button aggressively; some jackass didn't hold the it for me. It opens after a moment, and Harm is standing at the back or the small cloistered area, grinning like and idiot.  
  
I smirk back, "What's so funny?"  
  
"You," he says with another smile as he pushes the button for the next floor.

"You thought it'd be funny not to hold the elevator." I say bluntly, still a little angry that he made me rush like that.  
  
The elevator doors close, and he shrugs, "Just liked that show you were putting on, Mac. Wanted to prolong it a bit. Chegwidden call you too?" I nod. The next few moments are filled with an awkward silence. I find myself longing for the days before Paraguay, when we were comfortable around one another. This initial surprise turns into disgust when I realize what Harm and I have been reduced to: best of friends to mere acquaintances. And 'acquaintances' is an over statement. There are moments when it comes back, the light-hearted banter, and the friendly arguments – or, altercations, if you will. But it isn't the same. I want it all back; I know I'm being selfish, he can't keep on giving to our relationship while I keep on taking after I shot him down like that in Paraguay.

I have Clay now, and it seems things are coming back on track for Harm and I. He seems to be getting over everything, and our conversations aren't monosyllabic or painfully generic like: going to court today? Yes. Good luck. Thanks. Your welcome.  
  
My life seems more complete than it ever was when Harm and I were doing our little dance. My career is blossoming, I have a stable and safe relationship in my life. I'm happy. I think.   
  
I'm startled to find the elevator doors once again ajar. Harm's looking at me a bit strangely, his eyebrow cocked. I don't say anything as I step into the bullpen, immediately making my way to Chegwidden's office. Harm follows, silent as well.  
  
Coates beams up at us from behind her desk, she's seems to be the happiest person at JAG, "Sir, Ma'am? I'll notify the Admiral." She presses the button on her intercom, "Sir? Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie are here."  
  
"Send them in," Chegwidden replies gruffly. God, he sounds pissed, I'm certainly staying out of his way. Harm catches my eye, he notices the Admiral's less than ebullient tone and looks at me with a puzzled expression – he seemed fine during the earlier hours of the day. Harm walks in front of me and opens the door cautiously, as if afraid of being hit by flying objects from within.  
  
We stand at attention. I love the décor of his office, not that I've ever told anyone that. From the rich oak furniture, to the cherry red floor and the small picture frames hanging off the dark walls, it's so homely. That is, until Chegwidden busts Harm's six for not listening to his orders, or offending a high-ranking marine officer.  
  
Chegwidden doesn't waste any time, "At ease. I know you two just headed home but…" he trails off, "I hope you weren't involved in anything in anything incredibly important."  
  
No Sir, nothing at all. In fact, I was just about to get busy with my boyfriend, 'cause I haven't been getting any for a while now, when you rudely interrupted -  
  
Harm's voice interrupts my trail of thought, "No Sir."  
  
"No Sir," I follow in suit. Harm starts to sit down and I do the same. It seems a lot like 'Simon Says' right now.   
  
The Admiral was very gracious this morning, saying something about us being at the office a bit too much. He ordered both Harm and I to go home while I went in search of an afternoon snack in the break room. Sturgis, who was in the vicinity at the time, kept on glancing at Chegwidden, the hope evident in his eyes, but was sadly neglected. The Admiral left, hollering for Coates to get him the files he asked for, and Sturgis trudged back to his office, carrying a stack of folders.   
  
Chegwidden stops with the pleasantries, pinning me to the wall with his stare, and then transfixes his gaze on Harm from behind his spectacles.  
  
"We have a situation. A Petty Officer First Class, Andrew Larson was stationed at the USS Iowa. It took port on the western coast of Italy one week ago. Larson was seen leaving the scene of a murder." He massages his temples.  
  
"Sir?" I say, the uncertainty obvious in my voice. I steal a glance at Harm, he's watching with the same perplexed expression I am sure is writ on my face right now.   
  
"Larson is 22 years of age. He was seen leaving a warehouse near Naples around 0800 Thursday of last week. Authorities found two bodies inside the building…" Chegwidden pauses again. Something inside me tells me I really don't want to know the rest, "his shipmate, Petty Officer Lisa Harper and Benito Rossi, the son of an important delegate in the country. Harper's body was found in bad condition. You two…"   
  
There it is again, the recurring silence. I suck in my breath, "If you need specifics, they're in the files here. I've already had the pleasure of viewing everything. Lieutenant Roberts has booked seats for you on the next plan to Italy."   
  
Harm clears his throat, "Are we investigating or…"  
  
"Yes. Larson hasn't been charged with anything as of yet, let's hope it stays this way. I must warn you, authorities seem to be doing everything possible to get Larson convicted, and if the notion should arise, I want you two defending that boy," Chegwidden eyes the plain, manila folder in front of him.   
  
It's thin. I can see a paperclip keeping the pictures of what is undoubtedly the crime scene in the folder.   
  
I haven't said anything in a while. Simply to keep up appearances, I look up hesitantly and break the silence in the room, "When's the flight scheduled Sir?"  
  
Chegwidden takes off his glasses and put them in front of him, "The plane leaves at 2400. I know it's inconvenient, but it will have to do, and the best we could get on such short notice. I'll get someone to take care of your caseloads for you. Go home, get packed. Dismissed."   
  
Finally, I'm the first to respond, "Yessir."  
  
"Aye Sir."  
  
We leave the office hastily, relieved to getting out of Chegwidden's way. The moment we step outside, I look at Harm. He's holding the infamous folder in his hands. I overwhelming sense of guilt washes over me; people were murdered, and I was more interested in other less-than-honorable activities.   
  
I start to walk away from Harm, "See you in a few hours."  
  
He grabs my arm, a bit clumsily, "I-why don't I pick you up by taxi? I'll be at your place around 2100?"  
  
"You'll bring the file?" I swallow hard, while nodding. We haven't taken trips like these in a while.  
  
"Yeah, I'll see you then?"   
  
This time, I stop him, "Let me just clean up some files for tomorrow, organize my caseloads, I'll be a few minutes."  
  
I get to my office, and glance behind me. Harm is standing patiently at the elevator, and takes his first glance into the files. I quickly make sure everything is accounted for with my cases, and step outside the office, turning off the light. Harm has called the elevator. He steps inside, and this time, he holds it for me.   
  
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END CHAPTER I


	2. Chapter II

0200 ZULU

Over the Atlantic Ocean

I hate planes. I'm sure Harm would spite me for saying it, but I do. I don't mind short two hour flights, or the few times I felt adventurous enough take a ride in Harm's stearman, but I'm put off by those that are multiple hours. But, I don't complain. It comes with the job.

I can just imagine the hell that Harm's going through right now, all 6'4" of him. He's stretching his legs precariously into the aisle, politely making sure he doesn't obstruct the pathway leading to the back of the aircraft. I suppose the 'joy' (if that's what you call it) of being up in the air makes up for it.

A blonde flight attendant is slowly making her way down the aisle, handing people their food. After what seems like hours, she gets to us.

She smiles widely, it's sickening really, "Chicken or beef?"

"Beef," I yawn. I swore to myself the moment I got on the plane that I wouldn't sleep until I got food, my stomach is in agony right now. I'm sure the pregnant woman three rows in front can hear its indignant grumbling.

She beams again, and hands me a small tray, with a thick slab of meat on it. A salad sits in the corner, along with one plastic cup filled with water. I resist the urge to wrinkle my nose. That's another reason I hate commercial flights. I know it's trite to say it, but the food is revolting.

Harm glances at the attendant's cart, "Any vegetarian?"

She shuffles through the trays for a moment, "Sir, you need to pre-order vegetarian meals. I'm afraid we only have enough for those who have asked prior to the flight. If I have any extra, I'll notify you."

She hands Harm a chicken tray and apologizes, "Maybe you could eat the other parts?" And with that, she's gone. I look at Harm, he's poking at the plastic on his tray gingerly, but turns his attention to his drink and takes a sip.

He glances back in the aisle, and snorts, a bit too loud, "I don't think she'll come back."

"Here," I say with a sigh. I feel sorry for my partner. I take his main course and push it to my side. I grab my salad and give it to him, "You'll be living like a rabbit for the next few hours, but I guess it's the best we can do."

"Thanks, Mac".

We eat in companionable silence. After a few moments, he's done his first salad. I can here his stomach protest as it gives out a low rumble.

Almost as if he's desperate to fill the void of silence, Harm starts to talk quite animatedly about Mattie and his first encounter with female hygiene products. I feel happy for him, he seems to have found something to look forward to when he comes home, unlike me. Wait, I have Clay, right?

Then all of a sudden, as if he's been reading my mind, the conversation is about me, "How are you and Webb? Hope Chegwidden didn't pull you out of an important plan with him."

I'm prodding at the piece of chicken that was previously in front of Harm with my fork. I swear it's jiggling more than any normal chicken should, "We're fine."

"You love him?" Harm says. He looks at me from the corner of his eye and forks the last cherry tomato from his salad. We haven't talked about it since the drug raid on the _Wake Island_. I don't like the trail we're on.

I tentatively swallow the first piece of chicken; I'm tired of talking about my personal life, "Harm…" I use a tone that'll discourage him.

"Sorry, it's none of my business, I…" he looks down. The flight attendant comes around and collects our trays.

"It's alright." Actually, it isn't, but I'll let him think it is.

I take the tiny, thin pillow graciously provided by the airline and lean against the window with it. I adjust my body so it's angled just slightly away from him, "Get some sleep Harm, we'll be arriving in about four more hours." I don't hear him respond, and I don't look at him to see if he's acknowledged my remark. Eventually, my body gives in to the torpor and I drift off.

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We've been notified that we're going to rendezvous with the authorities at 1400 today, they've been kind enough to give us a few hours to get ourselves freshened up and familiar with the case.

I come out of the bathroom and wrap myself up in a robe, and material is fluffy, it feels nice against my skin; I felt indescribably grimy after the flight, I thank God for letting me have a shower. I quickly change into the first thing I can grab from my luggage and make my way to the bed. Once there, I lie down on my back, and stretch myself out while curling my toes; I feel like a cat.

The hotel room is a bit small, but has a well-sized bathroom, a king sized bed with an oak dresser at the side. There's a fairly large television at the front of the room. I've been in much worse.

There's a soft knock on my door, and I give out a great sigh when I nearly roll off the bed to answer it. I know I should have a better work ethic, but I shrug it off. It's Harm, and he's already changed, he's wearing a pair of khakis and a gray button-up shirt – he looks nice.

"Want a peek at the files?" he says, holding up said folder in his right hand.

Oh, the _files_ I've so conveniently cleared my mind of. I move aside and give Harm entrance to my room, "You've already seen them, right?"

He steps inside my room and nods, "Just a glance," he goes and sits on the couch located directly in front of the bed, "Hey, your room is bigger than mine."

I sit beside him and grin, just like old times. For a moment, I can forget all of the drama in Paraguay, and my contradicting emotions. Harm has placed the folder on the coffee table in front of me. I open it prudently, and am met with a number of gory pictures. I look away for a moment, "Why do people do this do this?"

"Read the autopsy reports. That's the only thing I've looked at in detail, I've steered clear of the photographs," he's shaking his head.

I skim over the Lisa Harper's report. Strangulation was determined to be the cause of death, but five stab wounds were made prior to death on the abdomen, and neckline. Fortunately, Rossi's body was not in as horrid condition, he was shot once and killed instantaneously.

All I can do is nod, "No sign of rape…have they found out why Rossi and Harper were in there together?"

Harm shakes his head and glances back at the pictures, most of which have been scattered on the table, "No, but you and I are going to find out. The knife was found, no prints. The gun isn't accounted for." He intakes his breath sharply, "Why don't you get some rest, we'll leave in a couple of hours."

I get all the papers and put them safely in the folder, "Alright. You get some sleep too, Harm."

Once Harm has left, I don't go to bed. I read up on Harper and Rossi. Harper graduated from university two years ago, and joined the Navy shortly after. In all twenty-five years of her life, her record was spotless, no juvenile cases or recent problems. I see her file photo, she was a pretty girl with light brown hair and a pale complexion; she is smiling back at me like nothing is wrong, I feel a bit sick.

Rossi, thirty-one, on the other hand was involved with two drug arrests and seems to have had a violent streak. He was apprehended once in a case of domestic violence, but all his problems seem to have dissipated four years ago. He seems like a prodigal son to me, leeching off his rich parents and getting in trouble more often the naught.

I put the folder on the bedside table and give a feeble yawn. Harm's right, we will find out what happened to that girl.

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I rap on Harm's door impatiently, and he doesn't answer. I knock a bit harder this time. I'm full up with some wholesome Italian food courtesy of the hotel's excellent room service, and I'm sure Harm is too; there's no reason for him to be late, he's had hours to get himself ready. The door swings open and I nearly thwack him with my fist as I go in for a third assault. 

"Sorry," he says. He runs back in to the room and grabs his cover.

"They're waiting downstairs. We aren't going to be making the best impression if we're late," I say dryly as he closes his door.

He sighs and nudges me forward slightly, "Yes, I know. Just hurry now, alright?"

"What? You're telling _me_ –" I'm cut off by another jab by Harm.

When we reach the lobby, a balding man in a dark suit and sunglasses puts out his hand. He is extremely thin, and has a large nose. He speaks in a thick Italian accent, but his mouth moves rapidly as he talks in fluent English, "Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie I presume? Lieutenant Carlo De Luca, I'll be your correspondent during this case. I trust you've read up on the case information?"

Harm shakes his hand, "Yes we have Lieutenant."

"Good. I think you will like to speak to the other crew members on ship?" De Luca breaks the contact between he and Harm. He seems very aloof.

I catch Harm's eye and give a slight nod before turning my attention back to the officer, "Yes, but first, where's Larson? I want to speak to him."

De Luca examines me for a moment, almost as if he forgot I was there, "He's being held by the authorities. I can take you to him."

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Harm and I enter the tiny jail cell, and the heavily armed guard (I don't see why his weapons are necessary in a local police station) locks the door behind him. A young man with blonde hair, an average build and a dirty Navy uniform looks up at us from behind a tiny table in the center of the cell. He stands at attention immediately.

Harm and I sit down in the two chairs in front of Larson in succession, "At ease, Petty Officer, I'm Commander Rabb, this is Colonel Mackenzie. We need you to tell us everything about the night of May thirteenth."

Larson is nervous. He sits back down and drums his fingers against the plastic table, creating a dull, pattering noise, "Sir, Ma'am, I had just come back from a bar a few miles away in town."

"Alone, Petty Officer?" I say incredulously.

He looks at me, "Yes Ma'am. The guys didn't want to come back to port, wanted to enjoy themselves a bit more. I thought I'd had enough for one night, so I came home alone." He pauses and looks down, breaking eye-contact, "I heard a scream Ma'am. So, I ran into the warehouse where it came from and saw Lisa."

"Only her?" Harm says quietly.

Larson nods, "She was in really bad shape Sir, I knew she was dead…so I ran out and went back onto the Iowa," he manages to choke out.

"It seems that you notified the authorities two hours after you discovered her body," I glance down at the file.

"Yes Ma'am, I was…Lisa and I were friends, it was just a really big shock. First thing I did after I got on board was throw up in my quarters," Larson says, straightforward. He wipes at his eyes with his sleeve.

"Did you see anyone else in that building, or leaving the building?" Harm says after giving Larson a moment to compose himself.

Larson shakes his head. The only noises in the room are his shaking sobs. I don't know what to say, and neither does Harm.

I start to clear our things, "Thank you Petty Officer, we'll come see you again after we get our bearings. We just arrived this morning," I say with a much-needed smile.

"Well, I hope you get the opportunity to do that Ma'am," he stands up again, with a bit of difficulty.

Harm and I leave the building, and the moment we're out, he touches my shoulder gently, "We need to talk to the guys he went to the bar with."

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USS Iowa

"Andy and Lisa were real close," Petty Officer Second Class Henry Marks replies softly, looking at the floor, "The only reason he went to the bar with us and not her was because she said she was sick, Ma'am."

Harm cocks his eyebrow, "They were close?"

The other officer, Lieutenant James Thades glares at Marks but answers Harm's question, "It wasn't what you think, Sir. They were just good friends, Andy never showed interest in having another type of relationship with her," he stops, not knowing what to say next, "They would just spend a lot of time together when given the opportunity."

"Did you notice anything strange between them lately, over the past few weeks?" I tap my pen against the wooden desk and rest my gaze on Marks.

Marks is about to answer, but sees Thades and hesitates. After a moment, he continues, "Well Ma'am, about three weeks ago, I saw them late at night on deck. Andy had disappeared a few hours earlier, and I just wanted to know if he was interested in playing a few cards," he gives a little smile, "and I was about to call out to him when Lisa just started yelling at him."

He's silent again, continuously giving nervous looks towards Thades.

"Do you know what about?" I ask. This man certainly needs a bit of coaxing.

Marks looks at his hands, "I wasn't eavesdropping, Ma'am, I just overheard, that's all, 'cause it definitely wasn't any of my business. It was just awkward. I left as fast as I could," he shifts in his chair a bit, "sounded a bit like a lovers' quarrel to me."

"But the next day they seemed fine," Thades interjects. He obviously knows of Larson and Harper's little spat as well.

"Do you think they had more than just a platonic relationship?" Harm asks.

Thades finally speaks again, "They weren't doing anything Sir. I know that. Andy and I are good friends, he'd tell me if they did."

"But when they first met, Andy had a huge thing for her," Marks retorts, it seems the two young men are now arguing amongst themselves, "I wouldn't be surprised if they were contemplating the…possibilities of their relationship."

Harm's stare is stone hard, he's looking out the porthole that is behind the two officers; it gives a clear view of Naples from the docks.

I slide my chair back and get up, "Thank you Petty Officer, Lieutenant." Harm gets up as well, slowly.

Thades walks out the door, and Marks is about to do the same when he stops, "Ma'am?" I turn around, "Regardless of what I said about Lisa and Andy's relationship, he's a good man. He'd never hurt her."

I smile in acknowledgement and Marks leaves the room. I turn my head and see Harm has been surveying our conversation. He hastily grabs his cover and starts towards the exit but halts, "There's one thing I don't understand yet. Why did Harper leave the ship?"

I glance at the file, "Says here her cabin mate is Nancy Fawkes, she may have a thing or two to tell us."

Harm nods but doesn't move, "We'd better get going then."

"You okay?" I ask, concerned.

"Let's go ask where Fawkes is," he says, blatantly ignoring my question.

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Nancy Fawkes twirls her auburn hair around her finger as she fights to hold back sobs, "God, Lisa…I can't believe this happened to her. They told me four days ago, I just couldn't believe it until now."

Her emotions rush in as a torrent, and tears flow freely down her cheeks. She gets up, forgetting she's in the presence of senior officers, and walks to the porthole on the left side of the room.

Harm gets up and puts his hand on her shoulder comfortingly, "Were you two good friends?" he whispers.

"The best," she pulls away from Harm and sits back down, "Sorry about that, Ma'am."

I give her a reassuring smile, "Don't worry about it. I know it's hard, but I need you to answer a few questions."

Fawkes nods and sniffles a bit, "I'll do anything I can do to help you find the sick person who did this."

I take out some notepaper and ready myself, "Do you know Petty Officer Andrew Larson?"

Fawkes nods, "Andy? He and Lisa were friends, sometimes she'd spend more time with him than me," she adds with a chuckle.

Harm smiles, "How would you describe their relationship?"

"They were good friends, Sir. Sometimes…I don't know if I should be saying this…but she would talk to me about him. I think-I think she really liked him." I stiffen in my chair, Harper was in love with Larson?

"What did she say?"

"Sometimes, after spending time with him, she would talk about him," Fawkes laughs quietly, "but sometimes she'd be angry. One time, she said she tried to bring up taking their relationship to the next level. He just didn't say anything. She was furious. You know, that's what I really admired about Lisa, she never got teary over a man, she was always so strong."

"The night that she…" I wait, deciding the best word choice before I continue, "How was she acting before she left that night."

"I- she was fine…," Fawkes bites her bottom lip, "I asked Lisa why she didn't go with Andy to the bar, I mean, I needed to stay because I was feeling a bit under the weather, but she looked fine. She just said that she didn't feel like drinking or going out. Then I asked if she wanted to go to the mess, get a little something. She said that she had something to do later that night."

"So she planned to go out?"

"I guess so, Ma'am. That's what it sounded like then. I just thought she wanted to get some fresh air out on deck, and she left. I went out a little later, looking for her, and some of the others said they saw her leave. That was the last time I saw her," Fawkes starts breaking down again, "Why didn't she tell me anything?"

Harm quietly escorts Fawkes out of the room, and tells her to get some rest. He comes back in and stands at the door. He crosses his arms and exhales his breath slowly and turns his head to the side, "Why don't we get something to eat?"

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END CHAPTER II


	3. Chapter III

The sun's light is lessening as we head to find a place to eat. We stumble across a small restaurant in the center of town. We haven't stopped to change, and get a few looks from civilians on the street and even the waiter. The stone building has a rustic quality about it, and there are several café tables outside. Inside, it's dimly lit, and the table we're seated at is adorned with a bouquet of lavender.

After getting our meals, Harm is the first to speak, "You think maybe, behind closed doors, Harper and Larson…"

"Their friends seem pretty certain nothing was going on, Harm."

"Let's just speculate, maybe Larson got a bit obsessive about their relationship, and came back to start something with her. She's the one to reject this time, and he gets angry…"

I pull a bit at my top, "We have lots of angles that we haven't explored yet, it's a bit early for speculation. Like Rossi's family, the bar that Larson went to…we just started the investigation, any number of things could have occurred. Besides, Larson doesn't seem like the type to lose his temper over something so trivial."

"A relationship with a women, especially one you know for a while isn't trivial, Mac," Harm is thoroughly enjoying his lasagna, not seeing my reaction to his comment. It's most certainly better than our meal on the flight, "We need to find out how Rossi is involved."

"After reading his report, he seemed to be a bit sketchy," I take a sip out of my glass of water, "the CIA broke up a drug smuggling ring in which Rossi was involved in several years ago that had made its way to America. He was acquitted, seems dad came to the rescue."

Harm catches my gaze, and I suddenly feel uncomfortable. It's been happening a lot lately, and I wish it would stop, "What?"

"The CIA caught him…"

"So?" I ask, annoyed. If he's going to talk about Webb again, I'm leaving.

He looks back down again, "Nothing."

After a moment of smug satisfaction, I become disappointed that he's dropped the subject. Maybe I do want to talk…I just don't know what about. It seems work at JAG dominates my life; in my conversations, during my time, it's always there. Is this all I'll ever have? Will the most important thing in my life be my career? I realize at the moment, it is my highest priority, and the thought makes me incredibly sad.

"Why don't we walk back to the hotel? It's only a few blocks from here…I think," Harm grins as he puts a bit of money on the table as a tip, "the streets here are crazy."

"Don't worry," I try to withhold a smile but fail miserably, "I, unlike you, ask for directions when I'm lost. Why is it that all men do that, to protect their pride?"

"Hey, I ask all the time," he gets up and dusts off his jacket, "It's not like I have any pride left to lose anyway."

We make our way outside and I feel it's time to question that comment, "You have lots to be proud of."

The light-hearted mood has disappeared, "Like what?" Harm replies bitterly as he stuffs his hands in his pockets after placing his cover on his head.

"You've helped raise Mattie, Harm. It's the best thing you've ever done. You helped her get her life back on track, and for that, she'll be eternally grateful. Let's not forget you're distinguished career," I swear that he's rolling his eyes at the comment, "What?"

He gives a snort, "Mattie, maybe I'll give that to you, but my career? It's been nothing but smooth the past year. The Admiral's been hounding my six ever since I came back…and let's not forget the unique smell that graced my 'office' upon my return."

I don't know what that rancid smell has to do with his pride but I don't say anything, "And you have friends who care…" That sounds feeble to even me.

He stops and tilts his head, once again putting me on the spot with his stare, "Do you care about me?" He doesn't say it to spite me, he's actually questioning our relationship.

I feel like I've been bludgeoned in the stomach with a sledgehammer, he really doubts my feelings toward him. I suppose it's his prerogative, I wasn't acting like his friend when he came back, "Of course I do…" Great job, I chastise myself, you sounded so certain when you said that, hell, I'm sure he'll just give you a great big hug right now.

Harm looks away and squints as he looks over the water into to sun setting, "Thanks Mac…it means a lot to me."

I don't deserve that comment. As I scrutinize him, I can't help but feel the ghosts of emotions that were there in Australia, on the Admiral's porch, and countless other times I've been dangerously close to this man. After a moment, I decide the feelings are much more evident than 'ghosts'.

----------------------------

----------------------------

0143 ZULU

I am jarred awake as I hear an urgent string of thuds against my door. I turn on my bedside lamp, and as I do this, I'm less than half-awake; I stumble groggily to the noise. My flannel shorts somehow manage to get caught on the knob on the side table as I make my way to the door, and I curse silently. After my epic journey from my bed, I open the door, and give an animated yawn when I see Harm there, the theatrical stretching of my arms and all.

He shushes me quickly and slips inside the door, "What took you so long?"

"Harm, it's not even 0200…" I trail off but close my mouth when I see the look in his eyes. They are alert with excitement, "Something wrong?"

He gently closes the door behind him and makes his way to my bed and sits down without hesitation, "I just got a call from someone who knows about the case. He said he would help us with find out about Rossi."

I put my arms on my hips, "Who is 'he'?"

Harm arches his eyebrow, "All I know is that we're to meet him 1100 tomorrow, same restaurant as today."

"You're going, aren't you," I ask, knowing the answer before the words are out of my mouth. He nods with a sly smile. I give a sigh, "Alright, I suppose we could go to Larson before then and make our way there after…"

"Great, it's settled then," he's about to leave and pauses at the door, poking his head in, "I'm sorry that I interrupted your beauty sleep."

I don't know what comes over me when I say, "Just be glad I wasn't doing anything else." My cheeks flush when I realize what I've said, and I quickly try to correct my error when I see his mouth twitch, "Harm…yellow light."

He opens his mouth to make a make a witty retort when I close the door, smiling all the way back to my bed.

----------------------------

----------------------------

0943 ZULU

When we enter Larson's cell for a second time, we're greeted by a man who looks much sorrier than the one we saw the day before. His uniform is even more wrinkled, and his eyes are red and look extremely sore.

"Ma'am, Sir?" his knuckles become white as he grips the bars, "They were interviewing me all night…I'm sorry, I didn't get much sleep…"

"Don't worry Petty Officer, just cooperate with us, and we may have you out of here soon."

"I'll do everything I can, Ma'am," he says with a nod.

I sit with him at the desk and begin our meeting, "I spoke with some of you shipmates yesterday. They really care about you." I'm doing everything I can to get this man's spirit up before I ask him a very personal question.

"They're good friends," he rubs his face with his hands. His voice is raspy and dry.

Harm clears his throat, "They told me about you and Lisa. Yesterday, you said you were friends. Some of your colleagues seem to think there was…a bit more between you?"

Larson doesn't look at me. His body starts to shudder from suppressed sobs, I really didn't expect such a reaction so early in the meeting, "Some of the officers, last night, they showed me pictures of Lisa's body, seeing it once was enough."   
  
I give him a moment but gently press on, "Did you love her, Petty Officer?"

Quite forcefully, Larson takes in a breath of air, "I did, Ma'am."

"I'm sorry about…" I look down, "I can't imagine how it would feel."

"You know what the worst part is? I never told her…anything…we knew each other for years, and I didn't tell her how I felt. Maybe it could have turned out differently or…I don't know," he closes his eyes, "and when I saw her on the floor, her eyes open and vacant like that, I just panicked."

"We heard about the argument you two had several weeks ago. Petty Officer, you do understand that you are a prime suspect in this case not only because you left the crime scene but because of your personal relationship with the victim," Harm states, more than asks.

"I'd never, ever hurt Lisa," Larson whispers.

Harm and I study the man before for some time before going on, "I'm sorry for such a brief visit, but the Commander and I are running a bit of a right schedule today. Do you have anything else to tell us, Petty Officer?"

"Nothing I can think of, Ma'am," Larson says, getting up from his seat and futilely attempting at composing himself.

When we step out of the jail, Harm's cell phone rings, it's noisy ring catching the attention of some people on the street. He hastily grabs it out of his jacket and answers, "Rabb…Lieutenant? Yes, Colonel Mackenzie and I are here right now…well, we can only make it after 1200…see you there."

"De Luca?" I ask.

"Seems they found a little something about Harper that we were failed to be informed about…"

I look at him quizzically.

"They found heroine in behind her locker in her quarters, hidden, Fawkes claims to know nothing about it. Harper did drugs."

My eyes widen, "We'll have another chat with Larson tonight."

----------------------------

----------------------------

1102 ZULU

Harm leads the way into the restaurant, which is now filled with the smoke of cigarettes. My tongue tastes like ash, I can't stand second hand smoke, and I'm glad Harm quit all those years ago. The waiter leads us to a table where a man with slick brown hair, and a thin figure is slowly munching food. He's the only one on this side of the establishment.

We stand beside the table and without looking up, he speaks, "Commander Rabb?" He stands and greets Harm with a handshake. He has a western accent, he's definitely not Italian.

He turns to me, "Colonel Mackenzie, I…" in one delicate swoop my hand is in his, and he gently brushes his lips against my knuckles. How cliché, I resist the urge to roll my eyes and force a smile. The man smells of cheap cologne and liquor, "Agent Jacob Freeman, CIA, I'm here to deliver a bit of news to you."

CIA? I can just picture the little hamster wheels in Harm's head turning at this, "How do you know about the case?"

Freeman gestures to the seats in front of him and smiles graciously, "Well, I'm not supposed to be leaking things around, but Clay told me about your case, asked me to lend a hand, and here I am."

The hamster wheel is turning at Mach 3 now. I open my mouth but Harm gets there before me, "Webb sent you?"

Freeman eyes me with a smirk, "Told me to help out Colonel Mackenzie. You and Webb, huh? Never thought the guy would find someone so…someone like you."

"Excuse me?" I glare at him.

"Well, you are his…lady-friend, right?" Freeman says obnoxiously between mouthfuls of pasta.

I don't know whether to be thankful or surprised when Harm steers the conversation onto a different path, "What do you have to tell us?"

"We need to be somewhere else soon, could you hurry it up?" I add.

Freeman grins, little bits of food are stuck between his teeth, "Well, as you know, the CIA broke up one of Rossi's older drug chains when he went international. Seems like the old boy went at it again a few months ago, this time, he was supplying it much more secretively, managing to get the stuff into the USA in small quotas and all around Europe. It's been a bit disruptive, so we've been trying for months to find the source."

He concentrates on his food and doesn't speak for a while. A gentle munching can be heard as he mashes a pepper between his teeth. I'm getting a bit frustrated, "And…what?"

He looks up again and glances at Harm, "Is she always like this, Commander?"

"Only when she's aggravated," Harm grins, "so, yes."

I open my mouth to protest but Freeman continues, "Have you heard from De Luca? Harper was addicted. Guess who she was getting drugs from at port in Italy?"

"Rossi…"

Freeman chuckles, "Bingo. She was involved with Rossi's business partners throughout every port the Iowa landed on, when she could get her hands on the drugs. They knew each other prior to her death, she was meeting him…"

"Drug money?"

"Maybe, we won't know for sure until you JAG lawyers do your jobs, will we."

"Mac, we should be heading out," Harm glances at his watch.

I nod, and as expected, Freeman has something else to say, "Mac? I thought you were Sarah."

"I'm both," I'm grinding my teeth together as we leave. I don't know why this man is making me so irritated, he hasn't said anything overly offensive, he's just teasing a bit. A small part of me knows it's because he knows Clay.

"Thanks for your help Agent Freeman," Harm says as we head out the door. Freeman follows behind and hitches up the collar of his shirt.

"No problem Commander. And 'Mac' was it? If you and Clay ever…you know, don't work out, give me a call? I hope you find the guy, Commander," he says, teeth flashing.

Before I can reply, he's turns around and leaves. I fix my attention on Harm, " 'Only when she's aggravated'?" I ask.

"Come on, Mac, I was just joking around. Anyway, I guess having Webb real close to you has its perks," Harm grins, "We know why Rossi and Harper were together now, don't we. I told De Luca we'd meet him at the morgue."

----------------------------

----------------------------

1452 ZULU

"There seems to be quite a bit of injury to the cartilage within the nose," Doctor Costa says quietly, "It's a sign that shows she was most positively an ongoing drug user. Do you wish to see the body?"

"It's quite alright doctor, I think if the Colonel and I can work with specifics." As Harm says this, I shake my head a bit too much.

The office's cold, sterile walls shine from the light cast off by the lamp on Costa's desk. The Doctor makes his way to the trash bin beside the door leading into the room where Harper's body is housed, and takes off his gloves. I can see traces of dried blood and God-knows-what on them.

Costa smiles, "Don't like the dead, Colonel?"

"I try to avoid them," I says casually, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Is there anything else you discovered about the body?" Harm asks.

Costa looks at the cement flooring, his mouth creases into a thin line, "I redid a thorough look-over of the body. There was nothing other than the damage to the nose cartilage that wasn't discovered before. I'm sorry I didn't find this information the first time-"

Harm interrupts, "It's alright doctor, I'm just glad we caught it now."

As we're about to leave, Costa looks up quite suddenly, "The girl, she must have gone through a lot of pain in her last moments. It's a horrible way to die…find out who did this."

"Will do, doctor," I say, straining to keep the doubt out of my voice.

----------------------------

----------------------------

1529 ZULU

"Did you know of Harper's drug addiction?" I say, separating each word, the anger is evident in my voice. I don't know why I'm getting so upset by Larson's lack of cooperation, I know I should give a bit of leeway since he suffered so much, but I can't stop myself.

"I…I don't know what you're talking about," Larson whispers as he looks away. This is the fourth time he's said that, but I'm not buying it.

Harm, who was out until this point talking on his cell, re-enters the jail room. His shoulders are slumped, and he has a grim look on his face, "You're lying Larson. I just talked to the owner of the bar you visited the night of Harper's death. Said he overheard you," Harm pulls up the chair that's been on the side of the room until this point, "you apparently said, something about trying to get _her_ off the stuff. Could 'her' be Harper?"

Larson runs his fingers through his hair hastily, "Sir, Ma'am…I didn't mean to lie…"

"Well, you did Petty Officer, and if you don't tell us the whole story, and the whole story now, we can do nothing to prevent the Italian authorities from totally devouring you," I threaten.

"I had known for about two months," Larson takes a deep breath, "she kept her secret hidden pretty damn well, Ma'am. One day, we went to the gym together. She asked me to get her water bottle from her bag, and I guess she forgot to get the drugs out of the bag before I met her to work out that night. I found them, right there, staring me in the face. I confronted her, but she said it was none of my business."

"Did you tell her to stop?" Harm asks.

"Several times, I even said I'd report her to the skipper if she kept it up. It was for her own good. But she begged me, I couldn't end her Naval career. I kept quiet for a while, because she promised me she'd stop," he drums his fingers on the table again, the thudding noise echoing in the room, "but then, I came into her quarters when she didn't report for duty one day, she said she was sick. I saw her, snorting the stuff from her desk. That's what we fought about, three weeks ago, on deck. I told her I didn't want to see her hurt, because I cared. Somehow, the conversation mutated into my feelings about her and you know the rest."

My cell phone rings loudly, and I pick it up, excusing myself as I make my way outside the jail cell, and make sure I'm out of earshot, "Mackenzie."

"Hey, Sarah…or Mac," the voice on the other line is none other than the chauvinistic, but helpful bastard, Freeman, "thought you'd like to know that I found someone who may be of interest to you."

"Who?"

Freeman chuckles, "You aggravated again, Sarah?"

"Come on, I need to know what's going on here."

Freeman's voice loses its jovial quality, "We found out that after Harper's murder, Rossi made a call from a payphone right outside the warehouse she was murdered in. I have the man he made the call to..."

"So Harper and Rossi were not murdered at the same time…" I whisper.

Freeman sighs, "Not at the exact same time, no, according to our witness. Would you like to come over to the embassy and have a little chat with him?"

"In a few hours?"

"Sure thing, Sarah."

I head back to Harm to see him talking softly to Larson, who glances up at me as I enter the room. He looks back at Harm after a moment and whispers, "What now?"

"Do you know who killed Lisa Harper?" Harm asks.

"No, Sir," Larson gulps.

I just need to ask, "Why didn't you tell us about her drugs before?"

"Because…she's dead. I didn't want her memory to be tainted like that," Larson whispers, "I had no idea it would be imperative to the case. I'm so sorry."

----------------------------

----------------------------

1605 ZULU

Henry Durcell is a mousy man with a large head and a small body. His hair sticks out at odd angles, and his tie has several yellow stains on it. He keeps on pulling at his jacket nervously and wipes sweat away from his forehead, despite the relatively cool weather.

"Did Mr. Rossi call you May thirteenth, Henry?" Harm queries, clicking at his ballpoint pen.

"No-uh, yes. He called, from the docks, he said he was at the docks," Durcell says with an anxious smile. I see he's missing two teeth, and has one gold one. It's quite revolting.

I am standing at the side of the small, dark room we're in, watching with interest at Harm's questioning tactics.

Harm smiles back, "Why did he call you? After all, you are a tourist."

"We met a-uh, while back. While back while he was travelling in America. We became friends, kept in touch…you know."

"Became _business_ partners?" Durcell doesn't respond, "you know, Henry, we could keep you in here all day. If you fail to answer our questions, I will take you to court and put you as an accomplice to murder. Either that, or you face your obvious drug charges."

Harm's bluffing. He's just putting the word "murder" here and there to intimidate Durcell, he can't really charge him. Fortunately, Durcell doesn't seem that educated in law, and the ruse works.

"Alright! Ben…Benito, whatever. He said that he had hurt that girl, the-uh, the one on the news now. I asked him what he was talking about. He said, he said he was going to meet her, she owed him some money, you know? Ben said she paid him half the amount, but she added later, she wasn't going to come back. He misunderstood, he thought she was trying to weasel out of paying the money. He got angry," Durcell looks down at his hands.

"So angry that he stabbed her five times?" I ask.

Durcell shrugs, "Ben was an angry guy. He asked me what to do. I was real nervous, I just said 'do it like they do on the movies, get rid of the body'. So he hangs up to go do something with it, and I never hear from him again." He puts his hands out, as if admitting defeat.

Harm gets up and pats Henry on the back, "Good job, Henry. Jacob?" Freeman comes in from outside, he's been listening in the whole time, "Go get Henry a nice, clean jail cell."

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----------------------------

END CHAPTER III


	4. Chapter IV

1654 ZULU

Harm and I eat in his hotel room after ordering room service for dinner. His fingers brush against the case folder, and he furrows his brow.

"We'll go back to Larson tomorrow, Harm. Don't worry about it, we'll find out who got Rossi," my attempt at reassurance goes unnoticed.

We've been ordered to go back to JAG by Thursday, tomorrow, to let the Italian authorities handle Rossi. Harm asked for an extension from the Admiral (since Chegwidden seemed to be in a particularly amiable mood prior to learning of the Larson case, Harm's hopes were high), but he was denied. 

He sets his meal aside on the coffee table from which we're eating, "Mac, we weren't even needed here. Webb's CIA friends did more work than we did, I just want to find out this one _little_ thing, so our trip isn't completely useless."

I snort, "Little thing?"

He starts hypothesizing, with his hand thoughtfully cupped around his chin, "Larson said when he walked in, he only saw Harper's body. Assuming he's telling the truth, he must have gone in while Rossi was out, and then…why don't we take a walk?"

Where did that come from? I arch an eyebrow, "Harm, it's raining outside…"

"It's drizzling a bit, come on, I need to clear my head-" 

I stop him before he goes into a diatribe about the case and how clearing his head helps wonders in solving murders, "It's not like I have anything better to do." I glance at my empty plate.

I don't know what I'm thinking as I follow Harm out, but I do. It's nearly night, and the sky has become a lovely shade of dark blue and purple. The streets that were previously cluttered with people are virtually empty, except for a few vendors packing up, and some young love-struck couples strolling on the sidewalk. My mind drifts back to our conversation as we left the restaurant the first time, I'm not sure why. I want to clear up all the mishaps in Paraguay once and for all, I want Harm to come back to me.

"You know, when I said I cared about you…I really do," I say as we walk.

He tilts his head to look at me, "And when I said it meant a lot to me," he pauses, "I really meant it, it does."

We come upon a bench on the street, and Harm, who has been carrying our umbrella all this time, graciously puts it over me as I sit. 

"A girl could get used to this," I say with a sheepish grin. I can't _believe_ I just said that.

To my surprise, he responds, "Anything for you." He turns away, but sits beside me. He's careful not to be too close, but ensures the umbrella is safely over my head.

I take a deep breath, I might as well plunge all the way, "In Paraguay, all those things I said-"

"Mac, don't…" even in the dim light, I can see in his eyes; though he's willing me to stop, he wants to talk.

I breathe in, "I was angry, and I was in that hellhole for a while…I wasn't being rational. I'm so sorry, for the horrible-"

This time, Harm interjects quite forcefully, "I don't need an apology, Mac. It's alright."

"You're going to get one, like it or not."

He nods, accepting it. Harm's presence has become increasingly comforting, I feel much more at ease than the instance in the elevator. He shifts the umbrella to his other hand and gives out a low chortle.

"What?" I say, a smile tugging at my lips. I find it a bit funny, and a bit sad that this man's laugh can bring so much joy to me.

"I was just thinking…" he sighs, "about us."

"Oh."

He nods, "Yeah. We've known each other for eight years now? And we've hurt each other…a lot, and still, we've managed to hold on to our friendship all this time."

I know it's the truth, but I tell him what I've thought all these years, "I suppose we have hurt each other, Harm. But we've helped each other; all the things we've helped each other get through, it outweighs the pain."

Harm shifts the umbrella again. I snatch it from him, his arm is obviously getting tired. He's about to protest when I give him a look that shuts him up. I hold it up, careful not to hit his head when all of a sudden, I pull it down in front of us.

"Mac, what're you doing?" he nearly yells, but catches himself as the rain showers down on him.

I fold up the umbrella and shrug, "It's nice and warm." I have no idea what I'm thinking, but find it amusing when he hikes up his jacket, "afraid of a little sniffle?"

Harm gapes at me with mock disbelief in his eyes, "You know that I fear nothing."

"How about we head back to the hotel, Mr. Fearless?" I stand up, careful to keep the umbrella out of his reach as he trails behind me. We go incredibly slow, but I don't mind. It seems we're finally starting to sort out the mess of Paraguay; I forgot how good it felt to be around my partner so often.

I stop after some time, at the rate at which we are going, it'll take another fifteen minutes to reach our destination. The night sky is now pitch black. Stars speckle the horizon, and I see a small blinking dot moving above us, a plane. I stop and point at it, "It sure looks nice from down here, but I can't stand it when I'm up there."

Harm towers above me, and looks up, his gaze following my finger; he's standing so close that I can smell his cologne. Never has an aircraft captivated me so much, I dare not move. I drop my hand down as the dot disappears as it leaves my line of vision.

He has shoved his hands in his pockets, and glances down at me every so often, as if to make sure I'm still here.

When we get to my hotel room, I usher him inside quietly. We both take off our jackets, which are now sopping wet, and hang them in the tiny closet. I quickly make my way to the bathroom, bringing out two of the hotel's towels and throw one to him. I go through my luggage hastily, finding some flannel pajamas and a standard T-shirt. I start to dry my head by rubbing it quite furiously with the towel, I'm sure Harm is doing the same outside.

I see he's sitting on the bed, the towel in his hands. His hair is relatively dry now, and a bit messy. I glance in the mirror and realize mine is sticking out and has gotten puffy.

"I look like a mess," I say with a smile.

"No you don't. You look great," he states, quite matter-of-factly as he looks up.

I try futilely to smooth out my hair, but it manages to bounce back out of place again.

"Mac…do you love Webb?" he asks. He's not letting it go this time.

I make my way over to him and sit on his right side, "I don't know. I know it sounds stupid, but it just felt nice to have someone's attention like that. I haven't experienced something like that since Mic. I actually thought the relationship might have gone somewhere, but it's been falling apart lately." Harm tilts his head, he wants me to go on, "We haven't been able to spend more than a day every few weeks together. I really don't think I could build a relationship on such a rocky foundation."

"Webb helped us here, with Freeman," Harm adds.

Who's side is he on anyway? "Yes but…"

Harm leans back on the bed nonchalantly, and crosses his arms under his head, "So you're ending it?" I don't respond. "I think I know why you went with him. He saved your life in Paraguay, and you felt obligated to pay him back…well, I think." He thinks that he's offended me, but he's actually hit a nerve.

I turn away, "Maybe it started like that, but when I got to know him more, it evolved into something deeper."

I lean back too, and prop my head on my palm, a gesture very reminiscent of Paraguay, "I just don't know anymore."

The hotel phone rings and I reach over to grab it, I simply don't understand how people manage to call at such inconvenient times, "Hello?"

De Luca's strained voice comes on the other line, and Harm sits up in attention, "Colonel Mackenzie? Larson has escaped from jail."

----------------------------

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1911 ZULU

"How did this happen?" Harm demands. He puts his hands on his hips and towers over the much shorter guard menacingly.

The guard looks frightened upon hearing Harm's tone, "I don't know, Sir. He said he was feeling sick, so I went to cell. Then, I open it, he throws up on floor. He grabs me and says he snap my neck if I don't let him go. Then he grabs my gun and runs out."

"Past the front desk?"

"Yes, he has gun, he's dangerous."

I turn around, exasperated, "Lieutenant?"

De Luca nods, "Colonel."

"We need public support on this search, alert local television stations, radio, post up his pictures. We need to find him."

----------------------------

----------------------------

1957 ZULU

Back in Harm's hotel room, he is at the desk in the corner, finalizing the report on the laptop. De Luca urged us to go to the hotel, saying that we would be of no help at the station just milling about. I sit on the couch, flipping channels on the television; Harm insisted he would finish the report, so I'm just here, waiting for a call from the police station. They promised to contact us when they got a lead, but so far, it's been fruitless.

"It's really depressing, I haven't thought about it until now," Harm murmurs, without moving his eyes off the computer screen.

I turn off the TV.

Harm closes the laptop and gets up. He comes near me gives a little 'oomph' as he sits down on the couch, "The fix Larson is in, he tried his best to help Harper. And she finally gave in, too. She was going to stop her drugs, and they would probably get together, have a couple of kids and grow old together. Now, Larson can't even say he loved her, and he really did."

"It must be excruciating," I lean my head back on the couch. Harm does the same and glances at me.

"I could relate," Harm admits.

"Really?"

"Well, several times. I think the biggest one Diane. But even Meg…Lieutenant Austin."

Harm's previous partner? I had no idea he felt _that_ strongly about her, "You loved her? And you didn't get to tell her before she left?"

"I cared about her, I don't think I'd call it love. That's why I said I could relate to, not totally understand Larson. After Meg left, I was upset, disappointed that she didn't tell me about why she went. I thought our relationship was getting deeper, more intimate," he's seems quite captivated by the stucco on the ceiling, "But it wasn't all bad – I met you," he adds.

I smirk, "Yeah, and then I ran away like an idiot and nearly got us killed by my Uncle's renegade gang."

"That was pretty dumb," Harm chuckles. I sit up and raise my eyebrows. Harm shrugs, bringing his head up. He has a huge grin plastered on his face, but the smile fades after a moment, "I hope they find Larson soon, and I hope he hasn't done anything stupid."

"I guess he was angry – at the cops for keeping him in the jail, himself for not saving Harper, everyone," I am reminded by the close proximity of Harm, "We all do stupid things when we're angry."

Harm nods, "That's true. Especially for me."

"And me. Every time I've hurt you, Harm. Or anyone else I care about, usually it's because I was too angry to realize what was doing."

Harm clears his throat, wanting to change the subject. I don't know how or why I have come back to this, but I suppose we've been avoiding the conversation. "You know Harm, I don't think I love Clay, not yet. I don't know if I ever could," I whisper.

"Only because he goes out on assignment so often?"

I breathe in, "No, because of you." Oh God, what am I doing?

He wears a bemused expression, "Me?"

"You…I haven't had a successful relationship in years because I-" I will myself to stop before I blurt something out that will get us both hurt and re-break what has slowly been patched up over the past few days.

He understands, despite my lack of proper sentence structure, "In Paraguay, you said we could never have…"

"I was angry in Paraguay. I was so angry," I'm struggling to keep my voice steady, "and I ruined everything between us."

"We're still holding on, Mac. And I'm going to keep on holding as long as you'll let me," Harm says gently. He puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it softly.

I don't know where the filter between my brain and mouth is today, "I'll let you do anything."

As if on cue to interrupt yet another emotionally jarring conversation, my phone rings shrilly. Harm reaches out across the coffee table and pulls it towards him. He hands it to me.

"Hello?" I say, skipping formalities. I look anywhere but Harm, and awkwardly shift the phone from one ear to the other.

"Sarah!" it's Freeman, "Someone saw your missing guy, he's at the docks, same area where the woman was murdered, we still need to find him though."

I don't want to leave, but duty calls, yet again, "We'll be there in twenty."

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1032 ZULU

"He's in there," Freeman says, pointing the building where Harper's body was discovered. When we arrived, Freeman was alone, it seems he's helping us of his own volition, not because the agency made him, "We should go in."

I stop him as he pulls out his gun, "Wait, I'll go in first. When we talked to him at the jail, he didn't seem like a bad kid-"

"Mac, don't be stupid," Harm hisses and pulls me aside, "the guard said Larson was armed."

I take a step back and look at Freeman, who is wearing an amused expression, "Not anymore, found his gun discarded a few hundred feet back there."

I give Harm 'the look' and walk towards the building, but he follows me regardless. I can't stop him, and I don't try.

Surrounding the building, there is police tape; I duck under it and briskly make my way to the entrance.

Inside, we immediately see Larson's figure, a mere shadow in the dim light. He's leaning against one of the many boxes against the walls.

I walk up to him, unsure at first what to do, "Andrew?"

"Go away…Ma'am," his tone is harsh.

Harm stoops down to meet with him at eye level, "What're you doing here Petty Officer?"

Larson snorts in contempt, "After what I've done, I don't deserve to be called a PO. Hell, I'll be kicked out of the Navy, spend a few dozen years in jail…"

"What did you do?" I ask.

He buries his face in his hands, "I killed that man. Rossi…I killed him."

"When?" Harm whispers, making sure not to be to pushy.

"I wasn't lying when I said I heard the scream, Sir. I ran into the warehouse, and saw her body, Lisa. I ran up to her. There was a gun on the crate beside me, and I just picked it up, and saw the man walk back into the warehouse, with the knife in his hand. He ran up to me, saying something in Italian, and I knew he did it. I knew he killed her. I just shot him, right then and there."

I breathe in, he was guilty all this time, "Then?"

"I ran back to the ship, with the gun. I threw it overboard and got to my quarters. Then I told the police a few hours later about Lisa's murder," he looks up, his expression is confident, "I have no regrets. That bastard deserved to be tortured after what he did…I'd do it again. But Lisa won't come back."

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1114 ZULU

I hang up the phone just as Harm comes out of his bathroom and smile mischievously. It's started to drizzle again, and the impatient patter of water can be heard against the thick glass of the window. Inside the hotel room, only one light is on. The rest of the illumination is provided by the reflections from the street lamps outside.

He heads to his luggage and tucks some clothes away slowly, "Who'd you call?"

"The airline. Ordered you a veggie meal. I didn't want to hear your stomach screaming in pain all the way back to D.C. again."

He stands up to his full height and ambles towards me. He studies me for a moment, "Thanks."

Harm managed to convince the authorities to hold off on the trial in Italy. Larson will be in court in D.C., a few weeks from now. Harm aims to defend him, just as the Admiral asked him to, and I'll be right behind him.

"How about one last walk in the rain Sailor, before we get on that plane?"

He's a bit surprised, but the hesitancy melts as he puts out his arm with a warm smile. I turn off the light, and we head outside together. I'm sure I'm grinning so much that the Admiral knows how happy I am all the way from D.C.

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END CHAPTER IV

[ A/N ] Thanks for reviews. I'm going to extend the story to when they go back to Washington and start Larson's trial.


	5. Chapter V

1248 ZULU

JAG Headquarters

I rub my eyes wearily and place the phone down. With a great sigh, I bury my face in my hands and examine the surface of my desk with more interest than I know is necessary. I see a tiny fleck, black against the light brown of the wood, and sweep it away abruptly.

I've been at it all morning, getting re-acquainted with all the fun paperwork I missed out on in Naples. I didn't get more than two hours of sleep, and my confrontation with Clay this morning was less than relaxing. He called me at home, jarring me awake and asking why I hadn't called him. I wasn't trying to be rude, but I thanked him for his help with the case and hung up. He called again about ten seconds later, and I nearly bit his head off over the phone; he yelled right back. I'll talk to him soon, just not now.

I close my eyes, resting my head on the palms of my hands, and doze off for a moment. A timorous knock makes me look up again, and I see Harriet standing at the doorway.

"Ma'am? Are you alright?"

I get up, tug at my shirt and get to her with a few steps. She hands me a file and I accept it, groaning inwardly, "I'm fine, Harriet."

Her dubious expression tells me she doesn't believe me, but she goes ahead, "The Admiral told me to bring these to you. They're on the Holmes case?"

"I'll get right on it," I lie. The man was arrested for stealing clothing when he set port in England – I'm prosecuting, and he's obviously guilty. Poor Sturgis has the ill fortune of defending him; at least I'll have the joy of beating the Commander after my discouraging defeat two weeks ago.

Harriet leaves with a smile. I get back to my chair, and nearly fall onto it, melting into the squishy fabric. I lean my head back and give out a sneeze quite forcefully. My head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton, and now my nose is congested. I'm getting a cold. I never get a cold, but now, just as my luck would have it, I have one.

"Too much time in the rain, Colonel?"

I don't need to look to know it's Harm. I put my fingers to the bridge of my nose, "Must've been that guy behind me on the plane, the one who kept on sniffling."

Within a second, he's standing beside me, "Hey, you okay?" 

"I'm feeling wonderful. Just starving."

"Want to go out for lunch?" he asks.

"I have _so_ much work," I say. He frowns, and I add, "but I think I'd die if I didn't."

I grab a tissue from the box on my desk and head towards the door. Harm leads the way, and I give out a great cough that reverberates in my small office. At the door, I hesitate, and head back to the desk, deciding to take the whole box instead.

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"Baby spinach," Harm says, his eyes twinkling as he digs into his salad.

I prod my pasta unenthusiastically with my head resting on my hand, "So?"

"I love baby spinach."

"I had it a few times in my salad. Now, I pick them out and put them aside," I glance at him, and he's eyeing me with skepticism.

Harm looks at my plate, on which I have been shifting the meal from one side to another, "Maybe you should eat, you'll feel better."

I take my fork and wave it in front of me, pointing with it accusingly at him, "Maybe you should…" I can't think of a suitable repartee, and it kills me inside.

Harm smiles, slyly, knowing he's won the battle before it has even started, "Eat some spinach, it'll get your gears turning."

I manage to get hold of one green leaf on the prongs of my fork from Harm's plate. I bring it to my mouth and chew slowly and frown, "Well, Popeye, it's not that bad. Can't taste much though," I say with a sniffle.

"Mac, are you sure you're up for work? I'm sure the Admiral will let you go back home for the day."

"Harm, I have too much work to do, I don't think I'd be able to rest with all that over my head, even if he let me go back."

He ponders for a moment, "Want to come over tonight? We can work on the Larson case."

The trial isn't weeks, possibly a month from now, there really isn't any need to work on it at this time. Regardless, I'm too surprised to reply at his offer. We haven't had working dinners in a long time.

He clears his throat, "Sorry, you're sick, and Webb-"

"I'd love to. 1900?"

Harm smiles, "I'll be ready before then. Can Mattie and Jen join us?"

I look at him with utter exasperation. Actually, having not been at Harm's place in quite some time, I think additional company would ease the tension, "Yes, Harm. I won't alienate your family at your home, why would you think I'd do that?" he's about to answer when I continue, "I can come over around 1830 and help out."

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I tug at my dark red sweater and push my hair out of my face and walk briskly towards Harm's apartment. I'm already late, and I'll never hear the end of it from Harm. In the elevator, there's a short women juggling bags of groceries. She leaves the elevator, quite slowly to my frustration, and a small humming is heard when it starts on its journey upwards again.

Finally, when I get to the correct floor, I raise my hand to knock at Harm's door when it opens, startling me. Mattie is revealed on the other side, and she smiles, "Hey, Mac. Harm's in the kitchen, wearing in apron," she glances back and snickers, "Don't say I didn't warn you. I'll be back in a second."

She trots over to the other apartment as I let myself in and put the Larson files on his coffee table. When I enter the kitchen, Harm is indeed, wearing a generic white apron. It is void of any slogans like 'Kiss the Cook', but amusing nonetheless. He's dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt.

It's a rare treat to see him out of uniform and in his civvies, and I don't think I'll ever get tired of it. I take in the image of the steaming pots, and the heavenly scent of the meal he's preparing and decide that if I had the opportunity, I could easily adjust to life at home like this.

"Smells great," I say. Harm doesn't turn around, he obviously heard me enter.

"I think it needs more oregano."

My mind goes blank, I have no idea what he's making, "Are you sure you don't need any help?"

Finally, he whirls around, "It's done, no problems."

"I told you I came earlier so I could give a hand-"

"It's alright, Mac," Harm says. The man is certainly stubborn. He goes to the cupboard and starts pulling out plates, but before he can place the first one on the countertop, I go beside him and reach up, taking out some glasses. He turns his head and smiles with gratitude.

We set up the table in a matter of moments, when Mattie walks back in, grinning with delight, "I'm going to the movies. Bye."

She's spins around and shoots back to the door. She's almost out when Harm's voice stops her, "Mattie…"

"What? With Jen. We're seeing Troy. Brad Pitt sure looked good in that armor," she smiles devilishly, "I know you worked hard on dinner, Harm, but can I come by later and get a few leftovers?" 

Harm nods in surrender. I can't resist, "Brad Pitt does look _great_."

He cocks his eyebrow and laughs. Mattie giggles and leaves the room with a wave.

We sit down at the table. As I expected, our first conversations are all about the office, about Bud's latest case, the Admiral's merciless attitude lately, and Harm's case on Major Allan Gray.

I make a desperate attempt at steering the conversation on to anything else, "Harm, this is about ten times better than your meatloaf."

"I beg to differ. That meatloaf had great nutritional quality, you know."

"Seriously, Harm. You've outdone yourself. I haven't been out in ages – it's been nothing but takeout for me the past few weeks."

He nods with a laugh, "I've been pretty sad myself lately. Mattie is great…but it seems that I just don't have anything else in my life. At least you have Webb."

"Clay…"

Harm stares at the center of the table thoughtfully, "My life is just so…I never dreamed years ago I'd still be at this stage. Thought I'd have kids, a wife, a family of my own. But now, it seems like there's a big hole in my life, and there's nothing I can do to fill it."

"My life hasn't been that fulfilling either, Harm. I have nothing that's solid, it all comes and goes. The only thing constant is my career," I say as I clean off all food on the corner of my plate. I want to say that he has been the other thing, that his unwavering support has been a cornerstone to my success, but I know it isn't appropriate at this time.

He's about to protest, but stops and changes the subject once again. He gets up, takes his empty plate and reaches for mine across the table, "How's your cold?" 

"A bit better. I guess all that working just aggravated it," I follow him to the kitchen as he puts our plates in the sink, "Want to go over the case?"

Harm nods and ushers me to the couch. I open up the folder and glance over the notes we've accumulated over our trip to Italy.

"You know, Harm, regardless of his intentions, Larson did confess to killing the man," I say.

Harm leans back, he doesn't really look like he's going to do much work tonight, "I know, but we need to convince the jury that it wasn't premeditated. The least we can do is appeal, get a lesser sentence. We need to make them know that Larson felt both emotionally distressed upon seeing his colleague's body, and that he thought he was in danger when Rossi came at him with the knife."

"Do you even know if that's what Rossi thought, Harm? Have you asked him?"

Harm pauses and shuffles a few papers around on the desk, "I might be speculating-"

"Larson may have just shot him without warning. You can't just assume," I say. He knows I'm right.

"Fine, I'll go give him a visit, and ask him a few more things," he says, "but if it's true, it can be the basis of our argument, you know that."

I open my mouth to give him my seal of approval when unexpectedly, I sneeze, but not before grabbing my handkerchief from my skirt pocket. I know I look like a fool when I go into a fit of sniffles and wheezes. When I'm through with the little spasm, I look at Harm, my eyes watering.

"Mac, you don't look so great anymore…" he says with hesitation.

I wave it off, "Come on, let's just get this over with." I lean back and let my head rest on the back of the sofa. My whole body aches from fatigue, and my head pounds. It just came all of a sudden, I didn't feel the symptoms escalating for the past few hours until now, when it became too much.

"Want a ride home?"

"No," I groan as I shift my body slightly to the left, "Maybe."

He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet, "Call me tomorrow, I'll bring you here and you can get your car later on, okay?"

Harm gets his keys and nudges me outside; at this point, I'm not very much aware of my surroundings and do whatever he wills me to do. I'd follow him into a wall and not notice.

"I'm sorry. You made dinner for nothing, the night was useless. We can work on the case on later?"

Harm presses for the elevator and shakes his head, "No, it was nice, Mac. It's a change from my usual days at home. And making dinner was easy, don't worry about it."

When we enter the elevator, I decide I need to let him know, "It was a change for me too. Thanks, Harm."

"Don't mention it."

I sniff softly and bring my handkerchief to my face once more with a sigh, "This is horrible, I feel like crap."

He hesitantly puts the back of his hand to my forehead, pulling away so quickly I can barely register the touch, "I think you have a fever, Mac."

"That's just great," I mutter.

We step outside and walk towards his car through the parking lot, "Your nose is all red. I knew we shouldn't have gotten rid of the umbrella in that downpour," after we're on the road, heading north towards my apartment, he adds, "it seems like I wasn't the one to get a sniffle, Colonel."

I nod, barely moving my head up and down. I close my eyes and before I know it, Harm gently nudges me. We're in the parking lot of my building, and as I come to my senses, a dull thudding starts once again in my head, "Hey, we're here."

"I'm sure a night of sleep will get this out of my system," I say with a yawn. I remember my manners and with a forced smile, I say, "Want to come up, for a bit?"

Harm opens the door of the car, "Maybe just a bit. Didn't get much sleep last night."

"Me neither – I haven't been able to do anything at work." I chuckle, "as you probably noticed today." 

I groan loudly as I step out of the vehicle, I'm feeling increasingly dizzy. I grab hold of the car roof and shake my head, and my sight clears.

Harm is quickly on my side of the car, concerned, but not yet bold or confident enough to come too close to me. His fingers brush the knuckles of my hand that is firmly resting on the roof of his car.

"Come on, I'll get you some tea when we're up there," he whispers, "You shouldn't have come over, Mac. You could've just stayed home and rested."

I concentrate on walking in a straight line, but acknowledge Harm's remark, "I'm just tired. Sleepiness and fever are not a great combination."

Once safely upstairs in my apartment, I slump onto the couch after kicking off my shoes nonchalantly at the door. Harm safely closes it behind him and walks into the kitchen after glancing at me falling onto the sofa. I can barely register the sound of the water running; I suppose he knows where I keep the tea bags, or he found it by chance. A few moments later, he comes back in, greeting me with a small 'hey'.

I take the steaming cup gratefully. My mouth is all dry and salty, despite Harm's appetizing dinner, and I'm relieved when the sensation gets washed out by the light earl gray tea.

I sigh with contentment, "Do you want anything?"

Harm shakes his head. His hands are together in front of him and he looks at them with the faintest smile on his face, "I'd better go, you need your rest."

As much as I know I need the sleep, my feelings get the best of me, "You don't have to go. I mean, unless you need to get some sleep too…or you want to leave."

"I'll stay," then as if to test me, he adds, "if you want me to."

Our little conversation now sounds like an argument unto itself. Over the teacup, I look right into his eyes, something I haven't done in some time, "Stay. For a while, at least."

Harm nods. He sees I'm finished with the drink and takes it from my hands slowly. He goes back into the kitchen, and I can hear the gentle tinkling as the mugs and glasses clink together.

When he comes back in, he has his hands shoved in his pockets. Harm's done so much for me the past few days so I say the only thing that seems appropriate at this time, "Thank you, for everything."

He shrugs and sits down, "You're going to stay in that skirt all night? It doesn't seem very comfortable."

I get up hesitantly, "I'll be back."

I change as fast as humanly possible, managing to find something relatively light and thin in the tempest that is my bedroom. After coming back from the trip, I haven't been bothered to rearrange my room. It was extremely disorganized when I had to do the impromptu packing before getting on the flight. I grab my robe and let it hand loosely around my shoulders.

Back outside, Harm is looking at my very small, very sorry movie collection. There's a sudden flash of light outside, which is soon accompanied by the low rumble of thunder. He looks at the window, startled, and then back at me.

"It's raining," he says with a grin.

I tie the robe closed, shivering slightly, "This time, I'm staying in here."

"Learned your lesson?"

I sit on the couch and stretch out my legs. I close my eyes, "Definitely." Harm sits beside me. He keeps looking outside, through the window, as the rain starts hitting the pane with more force.

I'm faintly aware of his hand on mine as he squeezes it gently. Although I struggle to keep my eyes open, my body betrays me, and I am unable to do anything but sleep.

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When I awake, I find that the blanket, previously in my bedroom has been put loosely over me. I decide that Harm has gone home, but I look down to the floor, shocked but strangely delighted, to see his sleeping form. He's leaning his back against the bottom of the sofa, and his head is tilted back. I can barely make out his chest moving up an down slowly as he breathes in. I can't help but snicker when I hear him snoring lightly. My internal clock tells me it's 0934, I've had many hours of well needed and well deserved sleep and it feels great.

I get up. My body is aching slightly because I slept in such an odd position through the night, but once I move about, the pain subsides. I go the kitchen and search the cupboards. I desperately want to make something special for Harm when he wakes up, but to my dismay, the room is void of all breakfast foods except a box of Frosted Flakes. I turn around when I see Harm, his hair ruffled, and his eyes squinting.

"What's the time?" he asks, his speech slightly slurred.

I pull two bowls from the cupboard, "0937. The breakfast menu today is Frosted Flakes or…" I spy another cereal box on the counter top, "Froot Loops? When the hell did I get these?" I eye the box doubtfully, hoping that it's not old enough to cause medical problems.

Harm snatches the Frosted Flakes from my left hand, "I think I'll play it safe and stick with Tony the Tiger. They are ggrrreat after all."

At the table, I find myself looking at Harm more than eating my breakfast. The flakes are getting soggy and breaking apart in the milk, but I don't care. I don't really remember the last time Clay and I had breakfast together; the domestic experience is so alien and surreal, but very attractive. I want this so much.

With much difficulty, I manage to swallow the last spoonful of the cereal and I get up, grabbing Harm's bowl and mine to take to the sink. I place them inside and I smile as he rubs his eyes and yawns, "Tired?"

"No, Ma'am. Good as new. That was the best sleep I've had in a long time, Mac."

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END CHAPTER V


	6. Chapter VI

Nearly a week after dinner at Harm's apartment, I find I'm back to my normal work cycle. The cold has past, and due to increasingly frequent urges from Harm telling me to see a doctor, I took some unwanted but helpful antibiotics. The Larson court martial is just around the corner, and after several sessions with Harm (in which we actually did something) we're ready.

I'm relatively free at work, and I'm finalizing my closing arguments for trial versus Sturgis, but unfortunately, the Larson date has been pushed dangerously forward. We'll be in court in a matter of days. My doorbell rings, and I get up, my pen in my hand. In my head, I'm reciting what I'm going to say for the upcoming court case when I open the door. Clay stands on the other side with a bouquet of flowers. Bursts of pink can be seen among the mass of blue.

"Sarah?"

I haven't talked to him at all since my return (discounting the phone call) and I feel awful. I take the flowers in my arms and smile, "Hi."

He enters the room. He smells like cigarettes and alcohol. His face is unshaven, and his clothes are wrinkled, "What happened, Clay?"

"Assignment. That's why I couldn't call you for all this time," he says, rubbing his face, "I just got back about two hours ago."

I go to the kitchen and get a glass of water, giving it to him hastily, "Are you alright?"

He rubs his eyes wearily, "I'm fine. You?"

I nod while crossing my arms self-consciously and exhaling my breath slowly.

He plays with the now empty glass, the water of which he downed in one gulp, "Are you free tonight? I thought we could have dinner…"

I furrow my brow, "I'm sorry, I have to…I have court in a few days, Harm and I-"

"Rabb?" Clay says. He fiddles with his collar, "Okay, maybe tomorrow?"

I nod and take his glass from his hands. They are visibly shaking. I really can't imagine how he manages to work in the agency everyday if just one assignment does this to him, "I could cancel, Harm and I could talk later, or at the office. Clay…you want to talk?"

He shakes his head and gets up, "I'll talk to you soon, good luck on the case."

And before I can reply, he lets himself out, without saying goodbye.

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2157 ZULU

JAG Headquarters

If Clay thought Harm and I were going to a five-star restaurant, dressing up and getting valet parking, he was terribly mistaken. I'm sitting on my desk as Harm goes over the files studiously, his takeout box recklessly discarded in the garbage can. I manage to snag a chicken ball from within my own with chopsticks, after much difficulty, and stuff it in my mouth wholeheartedly.

I don't want to be pessimistic, but I'm quite sure Larson will serve some time because the outlook seems grim. If we lose, even at a higher level of court, there's not much to be done. After talking with the Petty Officer, we are going to use Harm's theory that Larson was feeling in danger when he shot Rossi. Other than Durcell, and some reports we got our hands on from Freeman, we basically need to appeal to the jury's morals to get our point across.

"Harm, I think we have everything we need. We can go over specifics tomorrow at work," I say, getting up to throw out my garbage. I come back, grabbing the final box that has two spring rolls in it.

Harm shakes his head, "Mac, you know as well as I do that our case is weak. Mattoni will eat us up for lunch." He grabs for the box but I swing it out of his grasp at the last moment.

"I don't know why you're getting so worked up about this. It's like you're obsessed or…" I don't want to go on and irritate him. I stop and correct myself, "We've done everything we can, Harm. We weren't given much to work with from the beginning."

"I'm getting worked up because Larson went through a lot of pain, Mac." He manages to get hold of the takeout box and takes the remaining spring roll out, holding it gingerly between his fingers. 

"Yes, but not everyone who goes through pain admits to _killing_ someone else."

" 'Someone else' being their lover's murderer," Harm shoots back. 

I sigh and stand up, my voice starting to rise, "They weren't lovers, Harm! Larson just said he _loved_ her, and Harper's roommate gives us reason to believe the feeling was reciprocated. Regardless of how they felt, it doesn't help us with this case. Besides, Larson may have been lying to justify his reason for killing Rossi."

"We can make it a point that Larson was so emotionally shattered after seeing Harper's body, that he killed Rossi." Harm is standing up too, "and he wasn't lying about loving her."

"How do you know?" I challenge, staring him square in the eye and daring him to come closer.

Harm runs his fingers through his hair, but lets his whole arm drop with frustration, "I just know. Didn't you see how he reacted when we talked about her? You can't fake that."

"A good actor could," I retort, stepping back to find my chair and sit down.

It's only at this point that I realize we're arguing, just like before Paraguay. Although I know it's strange to feel this, I can't help but think it's exhilarating. All those fights and petty conflicts made me a better lawyer in the courtroom. Not only does Harm make me feel better about myself, he makes me better at what I do.

Harm backs off physically, but isn't letting go of what he believes is true, "He wasn't lying, Mac. He wasn't."

The silence is strange, considering we were nearly yelling at each other a few moments ago. I bring my hands together in front of me. "Maybe we should head home. We can talk again tomorrow."

Harm nods and gathers the files in front of him. He carries them under his arm and looks at me. I've nearly frozen in my place, but his voice beckons me, "Coming?"

I'm beside him in a moment. I turn off the lights in my office and lock up briskly, making sure I have everything. He escorts me out to the parking lot, his footsteps are the only noise in the otherwise quiet area. The lot is empty, except for our vehicles and one other that I don't recognize.

"Do you think we're ready?" Harm asks. "Or do you want to go over some final things tomorrow at my place, or yours."

"I have plans," I say softly, "but I'm sure we're fine. We don't need the time." We've been spending much more time together lately than we were before Italy, and I'm not embarrassed to say that I like it.

He nods quickly. We're at my car and he steps back, waving goodbye. I wave back at him when I get in, and get the car's ignition on. I don't start pulling back, however, until I can no longer see his shadow in the rearview mirror.

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Tonight when I got ready, I decided I would put _everything_ into my current relationship. It seems to be the most intimate thing I've had in a long time, and I really don't want to see it go. Regardless of what I said in Italy, I know now, I should do everything possible to make Clay and I work out. I just wasn't counting on _this_ when I thought all those things.

He breathes in, his fingers toying with the glass of Merlot, "I can't do this anymore, Sarah."

My mouth hangs agape, knowing what's coming, "What?" This isn't supposed to happen. 

"I can't do this…us," he says. I'm holding my breath, and I don't think I'll ever let it go. Soft, string orchestra music plays in the background. A lone violin crescendos, and the melancholy tune drifts towards our table.

My voice is raspy, "Why?" I don't know why I'm getting so emotional over this. I even admitted to Harm that I may have never been able to love the man in front of me, but I was going to _make_ it work. I swore to myself…

"I just…I don't know if it has a future, what we have. We both know your heart isn't in this right now-"

"My heart isn't in this?" I can't believe this, "How'd you get that idea?"

Clay smoothes out the table cloth in front of him absentmindedly, "Rabb…you and him-"

"Harm has nothing to do with us. Is this about yesterday? I told you, we had a working dinner, I had court, and it was a tough case…"

"It's not yesterday. It's everyday," he says, "Rabb-"

"Stop putting him in the conversation," I whisper fiercely, as another couple passes by our table on the way to their own, "If you're going to give me reasons for this, talk about us. You and me." I enunciate the last three words.

He tilts his head and studies my face. He leans in, "Fine. Do _you_ love Rabb?"

I'm silent; I really don't know what to say.

"See what I mean?" Clay says pointedly. "I care about you, Sarah, I really do. I just can't be in something that has no future."

He waits for the waiter to come and pays the bill. I don't move. He gets up and leaves with a soft, "Goodbye."

I don't know how long I stare at my untouched dinner, but I know I'm not going to cry, because I'm used to it. It's happened again – because of Harm. I just don't know how to deal with it anymore.

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I knock on Harm's door hesitantly after much contemplation. He opens it almost immediately, his eyes wide with surprise, "Mac? What're you doing here?"

"Thought you might want to work on the case, unless you're busy."

"No," he says, making way for me to enter, "I thought you had plans with Webb."

"I said I had _plans_ yesterday…I never said with who," I say sharply. Harm cocks and eyebrow and I apologize, clearing my throat, "Sorry, I'm just…tired. You want to overview everything?"

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I tuck my legs under me on the floor as I finish up. Harm seems to be in a vegetative state, or something of that nature. His eyes are open, but he makes no movements or acknowledgement of my presence. He nurses a bottle of water in his hands, and slowly brings it to his lips. In one quick motion, the bottle is empty, and he lets it rest on the coffee table, which we pushed forward slightly to make room for our work.

"What are you thinking about," I ask.

"I don't know," he says simply, "nothing?"

I don't question his behaviour any more, "Alright. When you're done with nothing, could you pass me the Durcell paper?"

"What?"

I point to the stack of papers that have been lying beside him all this time, and he comes to his senses, "Oh, right. Here." He slides them to me slowly, "This _is_ all we can do, right?"

I nod, "Yes, we've done everything possible as defense counsel. I really don't know what else would satisfy you."

"He's going to jail."

"We knew that from the beginning, Harm," I remind my partner.

"No, not that. Listen," he says, coming to sudden realization. He finds the reports on the crime scene and leafs through them, trying to find something, "Here. The knife was found on the south wing of the building, where Rossi entered from after talking to Durcell, right? Larson entered through the eastern wing. But Harper's body was found near the eastern side. How did Larson see Rossi coming at him with the knife, if the knife was discarded when Rossi came in?"

"Oh god," I look at the ceiling in anger at our imminent defeat, "He's guilty."

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END CHAPTER VI


	7. Chapter VII

[ A/N ]: I just realized I've been alternating from Canadian/British spelling to American (yes, colour with a 'u'.)

So if you see this around the fic, please excuse the idiocy, I just wanted to assure you I'm not some weird hybrid who uses both versions of the word, I'm actually Canadian, eh? It is only in this chapter that I started spelling "honor" without the 'u'. It's just been bothering me, I'll try to fix the earlier chapters later. (Honor, still looks weird to me.)

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"Defense counsel would like to request a continuance," I say

Alan Mattoni, who sits a mere two meters away from me, looks at me in disbelief, and then back at Bud, his co-counsel, for support, "Your honor, I don't think that's necessary. Defense is just procrastinating, they have all information that's available to them in their files. I don't see how one day could get them anything of importance—"

Harm stands up, "Your honor, we need to reassess the crime scene reports."

Judge Mary Patton, a middle aged woman who recently transferred from Delaware, looks at Harm over her wire-rimmed glasses, "Counselors, back room, now."

Harm follows Patton quickly, and I'm about to go too, when Larson grabs my arm, "Ma'am?" His voice is filled with so much desperation, I hesitate.

"Don't worry, Petty Officer. Commander Rabb and I just need to look things over one more time. We'll talk to you in a moment." I nearly have to pry myself from his grasp, but I finally meet the others in the back.

"Commander, this had better be good."

"It is, Ma'am. The Colonel and I have reason to believe that Petty Officer Larson has been withholding some information…"

Mattoni rolls his eyes, "You should have cleared that with him before."

"Yes, but this information is imperative to the case. We have reason to believe that someone tampered with the crime scene," Harm says. We never discussed it like that last night, but Harm's approach seems to be getting to Patton.

Judge Patton sighs, "Alright, 24 hours of continuance. We go on tomorrow, regardless of what you do or do not have, is that clear?"

I didn't expect her to acquiesce to easily. I hope I get her during my cases more often, "Yes, your honor." Harm looks about ready to kiss her, and gives a grateful smile.

Outside in the courtroom, we clear up. Harm takes his briefcase and hisses to Larson, "In my office, now, Petty Officer."

"What is it, Sir?"

We're walking towards the bullpen, and trailing behind us are two more officers, supposedly present to keep Larson in check.

Outside Harm's office, I ask the two men to wait outside, and they hesitantly agree. When in, Larson sits down in the chair and Harm shoots his questions at him, "Rossi did not come at you with the knife, did he?"

Larson's mouth hangs open for a moment, "No! He came at me! I swear to God, I'm not lying."

Harm comes beside me, "Even if he's telling the truth, our job is twice as difficult, Mattoni probably knew about this the moment he got the case."

I stand in front of Larson, trying to be as intimidating as possible, "You have withheld way too much information on this investigation, and frankly, I'm getting tired of it. If you want the Commander and I to do our jobs well, you need to tell us everything now!"

"Ma'am, that was not a lie," Larson says.

I arch my eyebrow, "I don't know if I should believe you, but…you say you shot Rossi because you believed you were in danger. How did the knife get to the other side of the warehouse?"

"I don't know. It was near him after I shot him!"

I turn my focus back to Harm, "If we lose the court martial, the best we can do is get his sentence down to 15 years…maybe a bit less if Alan is feeling generous. Let's go talk to Mattoni, Harm. We have no way of knowing how that knife got there."

Harm stops me, "No, Mac. What if Alan slipped by it, like us."

"But if he does know, he'll get it out in the open and we're finished. The judge will think the Petty Officer is a liar _and_ a murderer."

Larson clears his throat, "I agree with the Colonel, Sir."

Harm looks at Larson, raw determination writ on his face, "We're getting on the phone with the Italian authorities. If you knew Rossi had that knife, Petty Officer, we're going to make sure that Judge Patton knows it too."

----------------------------

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"Lieutenant De Luca? I need to talk to you about the crime scene reports," I say into the receiver of the phone that is perched precariously on my right shoulder.

"Of course, Colonel."

I recap to him what Larson told us, and he too, seems baffled. I ask him who filled out the crime reports, and he says an officer under him. I say I want to speak to the man, but De Luca assures me that the man cannot speak English.

With an exasperated sigh, I ask, "Do you have any idea what may have happened to the knife?"

"Not at all. I'll ask around here, perhaps my team will have some ideas. I'll get back to you soon, Colonel."

"We need the results by tomorrow."

He agrees he'll do everything possible to help us, and I hang the phone up with a thank you. The moment it goes down, it rings again, and I bring it to my ear with a groan, "Mackenzie?"

"Sarah?" It's Clay.

I stiffen in my chair, "Yes?"

"I…I have some information about your case. I had to pull a few strings, but I can give it to you now."

I ready my notepaper, a bit disappointed that he didn't call to _beg_ for me to take him back, like in the movies, "What is it?"

"The Agency was staking out the docks area near Naples, we found out Rossi was selling a massive amount of heroine in that area. One of ours started his post near the warehouse around ten, the night of the murder."

I furrow my brow, "That's at least an hour after Larson says he shot Rossi…"

"Yes, but they saw someone going in…"

"Who?"

"Carlo De Luca."

I freeze, the man who was supposedly helping us all this time was working behind our backs, "How do you know it's him."

"Freeman was the guy at the post," I smile, the guy seems omnipresent, "When you went to see Durcell and got out of your car, Jake says he saw De Luca in the backseat with you and Rabb. He only ID'd him right now."

"Thank you, Clay."

There's a pause, "You're welcome, Sarah."

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Harm has his arms crossed and is looking at the floor, "We need to get him here, now."

"I know…the Admiral. He can call the Italians, tell them of our situation."

Harm nods, and we make the way to Chegwidden's office. Coates gets us in with relatively little delay, and once inside, Harm gets right to the chase.

"How the hell did this happen?" Chegwidden says, looking up at the roof in exasperation, "Dismissed Colonel, Commander. Hopefully, that back stabber will be in here tomorrow afternoon."

I nod and whirl quickly on my heel, getting out of Chegwidden's way as quickly as possible.

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1734 ZULU

Sarah Mackenzie's Apartment

De Luca is currently on a plane to Dulles, and the court martial date has been pushed back two days. We have one day to interview him, assuming he gets here on time tomorrow. We'll meet him at the office around 1200; it seems he had to be _forced_ to get on the plane. The man's looking guiltier with each passing moment.

"Why is this case so important to us…" I say, leaning forward on the couch and taking a sip of water from my bottle. I'm not singling out Harm, because I find that I too am working double time on Larson's dilemma.

Harm shrugs and looks at me, "Because…it hurts. Larson and Harper, they had so much ahead of them, now look."

I nod and find my gaze drifting towards a picture of Clay and I on my side table that I haven't put away yet. Harm's eyes have darkened, and he looks quite taken by the floor of my apartment.

He runs his fingers through his hair and whispers, "I'm glad that we worked this out."

"Me too." It doesn't take a genius to know he's referring to Paraguay.

"You know Mac, I could stand you leaving JAG, because I knew we'd still talk, keep in contact." He's thinking back to my Dalton days, "but now, I was just thinking how if we just saw each other everyday, and weren't able to stay in the same room together without feeling awkward, it would just…tear me up inside."

I nod and bite on my bottom lip, "I feel the same way, Harm. Please don't even forget that. Don't ever doubt my feelings for you." I put my hand over his, which has been resting for quite some time, stagnant on the couch between us.

He looks me and nods with a faint smile and sighs contentedly. I make no move to take my hand away, and he makes no indication that he's uncomfortable, so I let the stillness wash over us.

I decide to tell him, "Clay broke up with me yesterday."

Harm's hand twitches under mine, "_He_ broke up with _you_?" I can't help but smile at this comment, "Is that why you came over to work on the case?"

I nod and close my eyes, tipping my head back slightly.

"Did he say why?" 

I shake my head lazily, "It's not important." He doesn't question it any further.

My lips curve up, "It's funny. I seem to be a bit _too_ indifferent about this dump, huh?"

Harm shakes his head, "In Italy, you didn't know if you loved him. I guess this tells you the answer. If there were no feelings to begin with, it isn't hard to make room for new ones, for the next man in your life." Harm grins, "Wherever the guy is, he should know he's a lucky bastard." 

I take in a deep breath and sit up, "I think I know where he is."

Harm doesn't say anything. Instead, he twiddles with the top button on his shirt with his free hand, and after a moment, casually says, "Where?"

I put my water to my desk slowly, "It's hard to know exactly. I've seen him on aircraft carriers, and fighting battles."

"Colonel Farrow?" Harm asks quietly.

"I don't think John's ever flown in a tomcat," I say much more confidently than I feel.

Harm is silent. He pulls his hand out from underneath mine. My initial reaction is one of total and utter despair: he's rejected me again, all because of my idiotic behaviour in Paraguay. I struggle to fight back tears, but I promise myself I won't let any fall.

"I'm sorry Harm, I had no right," I try to catch his eye, but he just looks at his hands, "God."

I'm about to bring my hand to my face, to brush away some hair when he captures it in his own, "Don't be?"

"Okay," I say hesitantly, feeling a bit stupid at my simplistic response.

He moves in a bit closer so that I can feel his breath on my face. I freeze and realize he's just staring, blinking occasionally. He furrows his brow when I don't do anything and his grasp on my hand loosens slightly.

After a moment of gathering my thoughts, I forget Clay, my job, and all the possible repercussions of having a relationship with this man when I move in to kiss him. He hesitates, and I nearly pull away before I feel his hands on the small of my back. Harm pulls me closer, protectively, almost possessively, and I'm sure as hell not complaining. He pulls back slowly, examining my face as if to say 'are you sure'.

I don't dignify his uncertainty with a response, and merely put my arms around his neck and brush my hands at the collar of Harm's shirt, feeling the warm, clean material under the pads of my fingers. His shirt doesn't feel foreign, it feels just right.

I break the kiss and let my hands cradle his face gently, "I'm so sorry, Harm. About everything I said."

"You said that already in Naples, and I said it's alright."

"I want to say it again," I whisper, "and it wasn't."

He nods distractedly and moves in for another kiss, his fingers sneakily pushing my shirt up. I smile against his lips and let the tips of my fingers skim against his hair from the back of his neck, nearly, but not quite letting all my problems wash away.

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END CHAPTER VII


	8. Chapter VIII

His lips brush against my knuckles and he whispers, "You smell nice…I want to stay here."

"Me too," I murmur with a smile, "Only one problem."

I shift slightly in the bed, moving closer to him and I close my eyes. One of his hands lies tangled in my hair, and gently starts to massage my scalp. Regardless of what I thought would happen, last night included nothing more than hours of companionship, which both of us needed desperately. We've both been through a lot lately, and Harm assured me that it wasn't because he didn't want anything more, it was that he couldn't do anything. I agreed whole-heartedly - after a tiny bit of coaxing; nearly nine years, I can wait a few more days, right?

"What?"

"We need to be at JAG in…one hour and twenty-two minutes."

Harm sighs, "Meeting De Luca today, right?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

I can feel the mattress shifting under me as Harm gets up. Last night, he slept in his uniform (sans the jacket), and managed to sleep quite comfortably. "Do you think the Admiral will notice that I'm wearing the same clothes as yesterday?"

I yawn and bury my face into my pillow with a sigh, "I don't know. He has an eye for these things."

"I'll make breakfast," he says after a moment, and leaves the room. I'm left to wonder how he's going to _make_ Frosted Flakes, but soon, I too roll over to get ready. I manage to stumble to the bathroom, squint in the mirror to see my disheveled face staring back at me. I brush my teeth while hastily running my fingers through my hair, in a vain attempt to get it vaguely back into place. I pick up my hairbrush, remembering Harm is waiting outside; there will be time for fixing myself up later. Duty leaves relatively little time for romance, regardless of how much or how long you've wanted it. 

Outside, as suspected, Harm is placing two bowls on the table and putting the blue box of cereal in the center, beside the vase which holds the bunch of flowers given to me by Clay. He's made himself up quite well, considering all he had to his disposal was a day's old set of clothes. Apart from his hair, which needs a little work, I'd say he could pass through the office without any problems.

He looks up at me with a grin, "You really need to get some eggs or something in here."

I shrug, "When I have time."

"Which will be?"

"Never."

"You know, I'll help you with some grocery shopping later. Maybe it'll cut off your little love affair with Tony the Tiger," he says between mouthfuls of cereal.

I let my chin rest on top of my open palm, "That'll be fun, but no more Tony?"

He slurps at a spoon of milk thoughtfully, "Tony'll be here alright, just not as much. I mean, you haven't lived until you've had some of Uncle Rabb's famous pancakes."

After clearing up, I go near him and reach up to brush his hair back, "This is the only thing that'll give you away. Better get to the bathroom," I say, sweeping my hand through his hair again, doing it more so to feel it under my fingers than to help him smooth it out, "I can't work miracles." My grin melts away when he leans down to brush his lips against mine.

Harm's cell phone rings, interrupting the moment. His eyes don't leave my face as he answers it, "Hello?"

I can hear a harsh voice on the other end, sounding loud and angry.

"Mattie? Honey, I'm so sorry. My car broke down yesterday while I was working on the case at Mac's and…why didn't she drive me home? Oh, her 'vette broke down too. Yeah, I know, coincidence. I forgot to call, I got caught up with all that lawyering," Harm says. He stares at me wide-eyed, asking for support. I put my hands out, gesturing I have nothing to offer, "I spent the night here on Mac's couch. Alright, bye."

I smile, "If that was the case, why didn't you ask Jen to give you a ride?"

I smirks back, "Because…her car broke down, too," he pulls me in close for one more kiss. I don't think I'll ever get used to this.

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At JAG, we head to Harm's office, after being told that De Luca is waiting there, along with a CIA operative who wants in on the information. There's nothing we can do to keep the spooks away, so we give in reluctantly.

Inside the small room, Clayton Webb waits for us with a very apprehensive looking De Luca in the chair, his face directed to the wall.

"Rabb, Sarah," Clay says, his hands stuffed in his pockets, "the agency wants a leg-up about the Rossi drug ring. They think this guy will give it to us."

I shut my mouth, which has been hanging agape for quite some time; I feel I have two options. Run out of the room before the situation gets unbelievably awkward, or handle this strange predicament in a calm and controlled manner, as a marine should. Quite aversely, I decide to pick the latter. I sit down behind Harm's desk as I exhale a breath slowly, not caring that this is not my office.

Harm eyes me as he puts his briefcase on the table and nods, "Hey, Webb." He goes behind me, crosses his arms and looks at De Luca, "Lieutenant? You were seen leaving the warehouse after Rossi's murder and before Harper's body was discovered. Now, unless you are…clairvoyant, I don't see why you were there."

"What warehouse?" De Luca mumbles.

I chuckle and glance at Harm with a very fake smile, "Did you mess with the crime scene, Lieutenant?"

De Luca is silent. He takes out a handkerchief from his coat pocket and blows his nose. He then grabs on the arms of the chair, his knuckles becoming increasingly whiter.

"I have a file on you here, Lieutenant. Got it from my partners," Clay says, handing Harm a manila folder, "I haven't had a chance to look at it yet. Rabb, why don't you give De Luca the gist of it?"

Harm puts it on the desk in front of me and peers at it over my shoulder. I'm not shocked by what I see – more cover-ups.

"Carlo De Luca, forty-five years of age. Previously known as Angelo Zito? Your friends are good, Webb," Harm says, pointing to the topmost page, "Got anything to say, Lieutenant?"

"No."

Harm breathes in, "Alright. Zito - you, were involved in," Harm looks at me with a smile, "a drug arrest?"

De Luca's eyes flick to the ceiling with defeat, "Fine. Please, can this not get to my family? I have a daughter, a wife, I don't want them to know."

"That'll be hard, Lieutenant. If you did something…" I whisper.

"I…about fourteen years ago, I changed my name. I was into drugs, gangs, things like that. Soon, the pressure became too much," De Luca says, "and they were constantly threatening me. I escaped from all that, joined the police, and started a family…but I had started to get calls again from Benito Rossi about six months ago."

Harm's muscles tense under his shirt. I lean forward and furrow my brow with interest.

"He said he knew about me, and threatened to hurt Alessa, my daughter, if I didn't start helping him again. It started out small, helping with bribes, but on the night we found that naval officer's body, his friend - Henry something - called me. He said that he'd see to it Alessa was killed unless I went to the warehouse and made sure it seemed like Benito was not guilty."

"But you didn't count on Rossi being dead."

"No, I didn't. I found that woman, and I just could not. I couldn't do it. I had moved the knife to clear Benito's prints off, but I left it there after a few moments of hesitation. That's all I did, I promise, Colonel."

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"Mr. Durcell, can you tell the court what happened on the night of May 13?" I say, standing in front of the Harm, who sits behind the desk armed with a pen.

Durcell is wearing the same, filthy tie with the stains. He sniffles, "Well, I was at home, and I…I just came home from the club, and I got a phone call from Ben."

"Ben?"

"Benito Rossi. He said he had got that woman…uh…Harper. She didn't pay him the full amount for some drugs."

"So, Mr. Rossi admitted to you that he had killed Petty Officer Lisa Harper? Did he say how he killed her?"

"Yes. He said he stabbed her. He said he'd never seen so much blood in his life, and Harper wasn't Ben's first…"

Mattoni stands up, "Objection. We're trialing Rossi's murder, not the Petty Officer's. I don't think this is relevant."

"Your Honor, I'm merely trying to show that Harper's gruesome murder left Petty Officer Larson in a shaky, unpredictable state," I interject before Judge Patton can come to a decision. "Overruled. Continue, Colonel." 

"Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Durcell, then, what did you tell Mr. Rossi?"

Durcell glances at Judge Patton nervously, "Do I have to say?"

"Yes, Mr. Durcell," I say, putting my hands together in front of me, "What did you tell Mr. Rossi on the phone."

He breathes in, "I told him to get rid of the body somehow. That was the last time I ever talked to him."

"But later, you called Lieutenant Carlo De Luca, correct?"

"Yes. I told him to help me out. I knew Ben would screw up, he never was good with little details, so I decided to help him out with the Lieutenant. De Luca said he'd clear up the crime scene."

I make my way back to the desk, "Thank you, Mr. Durcell."

Mattoni frowns, "Prosecution has nothing to ask at this time."

Harm leans over to me, "I'll go with Larson."

"You sure?" I whisper.

He nods and gets up, "Defense calls Petty Officer Andrew Larson to the stand."

Larson gets up and hesitantly makes his way to the chair. His face is grim when he goes through the bailiff's normal routine. When he sits down, Harm smiles reassuringly.

"Petty Officer Larson, you heard Harper scream when you were near the docks. Then, you went in the direction of the sound and saw her body?" Harm says, pointing back theatrically.

"Yes, Sir. I saw her, and Mr. Durcell wasn't lying, Commander. There was so much blood…" he closes his eyes.

"What did you do?"

Larson pulls at his sleeve distractedly, "I just stood there, Sir, until I heard footsteps. I saw the Italian man there, and he had a knife. He came at me, yelling something. I saw the gun, I think he left it behind when he killed Lisa…I shot him."

"When you saw Mr. Rossi with the knife, Petty Officer," Harm says, stepping forward to block Mattoni from Larson's view, "you though you were in danger, and shot him in self defense?"

"Yes, Sir."

Harm looks at the floor, contemplating whether to ask the next question, "You saw your colleague's…no, your friend's bloody body in that warehouse before you shot Mr. Rossi. How close were you to Petty Officer Harper?"

"Very, Sir. She was one of my best friends," Larson says, swallowing hard.

Harm moves a bit around the courtroom, as if to ease the tension for Larson, "Did you spend a lot of time with her? Go out, things like that?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Would you say that seeing her in that state made you angry? Or confused?"

Larson nods.

"Did you _love_ Petty Officer Lisa Harper?"

Larson pauses a long moment. He looks around the courtroom, as if trying to find a way to escape. He looks at me, and I nod slightly. He glances at Judge Patton, who's face is unreadable, "Yes. I loved her..."

Harm moves back after a moment of letting the silence take effect in the courtroom, "Your witness."

Mattoni pushes his chair back and gets up, "Petty Officer, you said Mr. Rossi came at you with the knife. I have here, two crime scene reports of the warehouse. During your talk with the Italian authorities, you said you came through the eastern entrance. However, Mr. Rossi, after supposedly making a call to Mr. Durcell, came back in from the southern entrance. How is it possible you saw him come at you with a knife, if the knife was found at the southern exit? I thought you shot Mr. Rossi near the eastern entrance?"

I nudge Harm and he looks at me. I knew I was right in thinking Mattoni was aware of the knife dilemma.

Larson opens his mouth and looks at both Harm and I for support, "I saw him with the knife, Sir."

"The knife was at least thirty meters away from where Rossi's body was found, Petty Officer. Unless you moved it, or the handle of the blade grew legs and walked away, I fail to see how you saw him come at you with the knife!"

Larson doesn't say anything, he simply looks down at his hands.

Mattoni shuffles the papers in his hands, "Fine, Petty Officer. I have one more question for you. Supposing Mr. Rossi did have the knife, and he was coming in your direction, how do you know he was going to hurt you?"

"He just…I saw Lisa…Petty Officer Harper's body. I saw what he could do-"

"But you didn't have any evidence at the time that Mr. Rossi was the one who killed her," Mattoni says, raising an eyebrow.

Larson frowns, "I just knew, Sir! He killed her in cold blood."

"Just like _you_ killed Benito Rossi?"

I stand up, "Objection."

Mattoni steps back, "Withdrawn. Nothing further."

Judge Patton is silent. She pushes her glasses up her nose with a sigh, "Is that all, counselors?"

"No, Your Honor, the defense wishes to call one more witness," I say, standing up, "Lieutenant Carlo De Luca."

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"I was…I came to the warehouse after Mr. Durcell called me," De Luca says, tripping slightly over 'Durcell'.

I tilt my head, "What did he tell you to do?"

"He told me to help Mr. Rossi by getting rid of all the evidence incriminating him. So I go into the warehouse and I see the girl's body. I find the knife, pick it up, knowing it will have Benito's prints, so I go to wipe it off, but I see Mr. Rossi's body a moment later. So I start heading outside to leave and drop it near the exit, and I leave."

"Why did you do that?"

"After seeing that girl, stabbed, I just couldn't. I left the knife there and went home to my wife and daughter."

I nod, "Where was the knife when you found it?"

"About two feet away from the girl's body…I did not see Rossi anywhere though until I started wiping the knife. That's when I stopped cleaning the knife and started to run out of the warehouse."

"Thank you, Lieutenant, for your honesty," I say.

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END CHAPTER VIII


	9. Chapter IX

Judge Patton seems to have a little idiosyncrasy that I've noticed. She pushes her glasses up her nose every fifteen minutes in the least; particularly when she has something to say, and now she's doing it again.

She's announcing her decision. "I've reached a verdict. Would the defense please rise?" I get up, patting Larson on the arm reassuringly, "This court finds that there is no need for the for anything beyond this court martial, and that Petty Officer Larson shot Mr. Benito Rossi purely out of self-defense. I ask though, that the Petty Officer see someone about the trauma he went through and the loss he endured before he returns to active duty. This court is adjourned." She slams her gavel down.

"Congratulations, Petty Officer," I say, shaking Larson's hand. Harm follows in suit.

Larson gives a shaky smile. "Thank you so much, Ma'am, Sir. You're both great lawyers…"

"Are you going to see someone, like Judge Patton said?" Harm asks.

Larson looks down. "I think I will, Sir."

Larson salutes us and we do the same. He leaves the court room confidently, but holding back tears that will inevitably be shed later today. The man was not given proper time to mourn the loss of Harper – all he had was a few days in a six-by-six jail cell.

I close up my briefcase as Alan congratulates us. After a moment, I get up and see Harm is still sitting at his chair.

"We won."

I come beside him and pat his arm awkwardly, afraid someone might see us. I know it sounds stupid, but after last night, it seems that everyone is watching us. "Yeah…we did."

The now empty courtroom echoes when he steps towards the exit. Outside the courtroom, the Admiral greets us, "What took you so long?"

"Nothing, Sir," I say.

"You were there?" Harm asks.

Chegwidden crosses his arms. "You were good out there, both of you."

I smile. "Thank you, Sir."

He nods and turns around curtly. As we walk towards the bullpen, we can hear him barking for Coates. Harm chuckles and trails behind me slowly. 

In my office, I sink into my chair with a sigh, "My plate is clean for the weekend. No work."

"Last time I thought that, the Admiral dumped another one on me about three minutes before I was going to leave. Don't get your hopes up," Harm says with a lopsided grin. 

"Now, that sounds like someone who _does_ have a truckload of work," I say, arching an eyebrow, "_I_ am going to enjoy myself this weekend."

Harm crosses his arms and leans against the doorjamb. "Who said I had anything planned for the weekend?"

"You don't?"

"Actually, I may. I'm just not sure yet."

"Really? What was it you had in mind," I say, brining my hands in front of me.

He gets in into my office fully and closes the door behind him, "I was hoping you could tell me. See, I know the place, but I'm not sure about the time. Greensborough's?"

I'm jumping for joy like a ten-year-old on the inside, but I retain my composure by swiping some hair behind my ear distractedly. I've gone to the Greensborough's Restaurant once before, and that was with Dalton. I barely got to touch my meal before he had some mysterious stomach illness and we had to go home. He assured me it was just the lobster (of which he had no more than three bites), but I think he got a message from work.

Of course, Harm doesn't know I've been there before, so I give him the benefit of the doubt, "1845 on Saturday seems like a good time to me, depending on who you're going with."

"I think my correspondent will find that acceptable, Colonel. Thanks for your input."

"Anytime, Harm," I say with a smile.

He spins on his heel and walks out. A mere second later, his head pops back in, "Mac, do you think my…correspondent will like me to pick them up around 1820?"

"I don't know," I say, furrowing my brow, "If you came earlier, they'd have to get ready with you there, but if you came later, they would have to be ready before hand."

"Which one do _you_ prefer."

I smile, "Surprise…your correspondent." 

"Will do." He doesn't budge from his spot. Instead, he closes the door quietly again.

I get up to meet him. I need to tip my head to view his face and find myself smiling after a moment of looking at him, "You're awfully tall, Commander, and sometimes it bothers me."

"Why's that?"

I reach up and brush my fingers against his jaw line, "Way too much effort for doing things like this."

He leans down a bit and captures my fingers in his hand, "How's this?"

"Better."

"Good."

Our hands drop down when we hear a knock at the door. Sturgis enters carrying a stack of folders. Neither of us makes a move to help him, but stare instead.

"A little help here?" he says with a groan after a moment of standing expectantly.

Harm nearly stumbles when he rushes over to Sturgis and grabs his things. He places it on my desk with a sigh, "What's all this?"

"I have no idea. The Admiral couldn't find Petty Officer Coates, caught me in the hall and told me to deliver these to their respective owners," Sturgis says with a frown. He shuffles through the top of his pile and finds one very thin folder. "Here's yours, Mac."

I sigh with relief, "Thank God. Thought I was going to get _all_ of those – I'm finally getting out this weekend."

"Where?" Sturgis says. He braces himself by putting his arm on the chair across from my desk as he rests a moment to regain his composure.

"Greensborough's," I say without thinking. Harm's eyes shift towards me and I open my mouth to correct my error but nothing comes out.

Sturgis eyes me incredulously and arches and eyebrow, "With Webb? Have a nice time-"

I laugh nervously, knowing quite well I sound like a bumbling idiot, "No. Clay and I broke up."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be, she's alright," Harm nearly snaps, crossing his arms in front of him.

Sturgis frowns and looks at Harm skeptically, "I hope you have fun anyway. Now, I've got to deliver all of these – I am the new JAG paperboy after all."

"See you later, Sturgis," I say with a smile.

Once Sturgis exits (after much exertion to carry the files), I turn to Harm and sigh, "I don't know why I'm acting like this. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he says softly, "It's just…strangely nice. You don't get a lot of nice around here anymore."

"Tell me about it – but it is pleasant." He crosses his arms again and looks at the floor frugally. Suddenly, I doubt my previous outward confidence, "When you said correspondent, you meant me, right?"

He smiles smugly, "No, I meant that _other_ marine I've known for nine years. Jesus, Mac, for a successful lawyer, sometime you can be so-"

"Alright, I get it," I say with a frown, "Now, if you want this marine of yours to be at Greenborough's in time tomorrow, you'd better give her some time to finish off this nasty report." I hold up the newly acquired folder.

Harm looks over his shoulder through the blinds of my office glass. In two quick strides, he's beside me, and he leans down again much like he did a few minutes ago. He eyes the door one last time before brushing his lips against mine, "Just wanted to test out this height another time."

I can't help but lean upward one last time to press my mouth to his one last time before he heads out the door with a grin. I shake my head to clear my mind after a moment of standing, frozen in place. I know I'm beaming like an idiot, but I don't care.

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1013 ZULU

Sarah Mackenzie's Apartment

"Mac, I've been thinking a lot about Larson lately," Harm says, bringing his hands together in front of him. He's dressed in a leisurely, dark suit with a gray shirt underneath.

I sigh, "Work again?"

"No, it's not the case. Just him. You know, he didn't get the chance to tell someone he loved how he felt."

"We've been over that," I say.

I lean forward from the countertop and go to the refrigerator to grab a drink. Inside, at the front of all of the clutter is a bottle of wine, the dark glass glints ominously in the light, making this particular beverage stand out above all others.

Harm points at it suspiciously, "Wine?"

"Clay left it here."

"He drank in front of you?"

I shrug, "Why, is it such a big deal? He never had more than a couple of glasses," I say, taking the bottle out to show him, "See, still more than half."

"More than half of _this_ bottle." Harm grabs it and pulls out the cork in one swift motion. He goes to the sink, looking at me for consent. I do nothing to stop him, so he pours is out deftly. The dark red liquid spills into the drain quietly and quickly. Harm leaves the empty bottle on the countertop and turns to me again. 

"Mac, did you have a nice time tonight?"

"Of course," I say with a nod and a slight smile. Dinner was more wonderful than I could have imagined; perhaps the food's taste was only enhanced by Harm's presence. "Harm, are you alright?"

He wipes his hands on the kitchen towel and folds it back up neatly. His fingers brush up against the countertop and linger there for a moment, as if he's contemplating something, before he turns around.

I retreat from the kitchen to sit on the couch. He flops down beside me, like he has done so many times over the past few weeks, "Just…I don't want to end up like Larson," he says.

I now see where he's going, "Larson is young, he'll find someone else, but I see what you mean. Besides, I don't think you will end up like him."

"How do you know?"

I nod and inch closer to him, "Because…I'm here, now. With you."

He leans in but freezes when his face is a mere two inches from mine. He breathes in and exhales slowly, I can feel his breath brush against my cheeks and tickle my lips, "I love you."

My eyes go wide – I'm speechless. After Paraguay, even with the events of the night two days before, I thought it would take him some more time to open up emotionally.

He hasn't moved from his spot, "I just thought I'd let you know while we're relatively young. I mean, nearly nine years and…nothing. I wanted to do it now, without wheelchairs, canes and I guess I'd regret it forever if we _didn't_ say anything—"

"You're blabbering."

"I know…"

A smile tugs at my lips, and I know I'm torturing him, but I want to savor this moment. I've waited years for this, and I want to remember it, "I love you too, Harm."

We seem to go into a fit of passion as he lunges for my mouth hungrily.

"I love you, Sarah," he whispers repeatedly, in the sparse spots between the kisses as we pull back for air.

As much as I know it's stupid, I laugh out of pure joy after a moment under his relentless show of affection. Tears prick at my eyes and finally fall when I find myself sniffling and smiling at the same time. I wipe away at my eyes with the back of my hand quickly, but he grabs it with his own. I try to pull away, but my hand is firmly secured in the cocoon of his much larger ones.

"What? What's wrong, Mac?" He studies my face.

I find it strangely amusing that he's gone back to 'Mac' from 'Sarah', but I like it. It reminds me that I'm not only his lover right now, but also his friend. Perhaps I'm getting a little bit ahead of myself, considering the title of 'lover' is self-proclaimed.

"Nothing. Everything is great, better than before," I say, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"Yeah." He buries his face in my hair and inhales deeply. "It really is."

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[A/N] That's it folks! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews and encouragement! I hope to be seen around a bit more in the JAG fanfic area - so keep an eye out. Til my next fic...

- Fitzz

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